


The Legend of Moana

by MoofieLou



Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Lots of Mythology, Mythology - Polynesian, Romance, a complicated adventure fic because i can, and has cool powers because of ~story reasons~, moana is older because a decade has passed, plenty of disney-esque exploits and escapades, pretentious title i am so sorry, so much flirting and banter oh my god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-02 08:10:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8659330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoofieLou/pseuds/MoofieLou
Summary: Gods, magic, and perils, oh my! After nearly a decade apart, Moana and Maui team up once again to save the world from total destruction. This daring voyage brings new friends, new foes, and a discovery about Moana that changes everything.





	1. The Story Begins

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic on this site and it's gonna be a doozy. I do have it all plotted out, but I'm a senior biology major and finals are in 2 weeks, so updates may be spotty for a little while. Also, I don't have a beta because of aforementioned senior biology major hermit crab reasons, though I would love one! Apologies!
> 
> Also, I reference/draw plot from a lot of Polynesian mythology, and I will do my best to stay true to the established mythos while telling my story. I am not Polynesian, and if anything comes across as gross/appropriation, please let me know.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> EDITED NOTE: Nay, thine eyes do not deceive you. I revamped chapters 1-5, adding about 800-1000 words each, which is why the word count jumped by like 3.5K. Nothing plot-wise changed, I just wanted more introspection/detail. Hopefully I managed to fix all of those typos too.
> 
> Enjoy the revamped chapters!

 

 

_In the legend of Moana, our story begins like this..._

 

 

The ocean had been nipping at Moana’s heels since she had come ashore, trying (and failing) to get her to return to her canoe. Thankfully, it stopped the insistent tugging once she had begun scaling the sheer rock face of Lalotai’s entrance.

 

“I’ll be fine,” she reassures the nervous-looking tendril of water next to her. It shudders in disagreement, and continues following her up the side of the mountain, fretting every time she loses her footing. Her trusty oar—still inscribed with Maui’s obnoxious little signature—knocks awkwardly against her leg, dangling from a knot she’d engineered out of her skirt sash.

 

“ _I’m_  the one who saved Maui from Tamatoa,” Moana pants as she hauls herself over another ledge. “He was just,” she grunts, “in my way.”

 

Speaking of the demigod, Moana hadn’t seen his leafy behind for nearly ten years. He had tagged along for the first bout of wayfinding, watching over her people like an overly muscled mother hen, simultaneously clucking at their sailing skills and taking out any obstacles with his fishhook. To his credit, Maui stuck around long enough to help build the village on the new island, happy to let the villagers ooh and ahh as he swung whole coconut trees around.

 

Moana smiles and she remembers one of the first evenings, all of the people gathered together to enjoy a massive feast to celebate the new island. Fresh  _poké_  from the fishermen who had hauled in a mighty catch, pork roasted in an  _imu_ that had been dug for the occasion, a bounty of  _kukui_  nuts, breadfruit, taro root, and more, all served on huge banana leaves. The new island was so rich with bounty they were practically knee-deep in coconuts, and Moana's hardworking people had immediately begun unearthing its riches they moment they had gone ashore.

 

At the feast, she had been sitting close to Maui, enjoying the warmth his large form radiated. The night air wasn't chilled, per se, but the food and drink in Moana's belly had her drowsy with satiety. Across from Moana sat her father Cheif Tui and her mother Sina, who were smiling proudly as they looked over their people. As for the demigod, Moana had looked over to see him munching contentedly on a piece of pork as at least six children crawled over his body, tugging on his hair and poking at his tattoos. The sight was terribly endearing. He looked so happy and warm and like he belonged that all Moana could think about is how much she wanted him to stay.

 

But he hadn’t.

 

“Demigod stuff, you know how it goes,” he had explained as he packed supplies into his canoe. Moana had raised an unimpressed brow, crossing her arms.

 

“Not really, no. Still mortal here.”

 

Maui made a noncommittal noise, shutting the hull storage. The memory of the feast hit Moana with a pang, and she stepped closer, placing a hesitant hand on his bicep. “I know I can’t make you stay,” she murmured, “but will you at least promise to visit?”

 

Maui gave her one of his rare, gentle smiles and settled one of his large hands onto her head, ruffling her hair. “Of course, curly. I’ve gotta keep an eye on the progress of the huge Maui statue you’ll be building in the village in my honor.”

 

Ugh, trust Maui to ruin a nice moment with his usual smug attitude. Moana swatted his hand away, jumping up to pull him into a hug. “See you out there, Maui.”

 

“See you out there, Moana.”

 

But that was ten years ago, and Moana hadn’t seen him since.

 

Shaking herself, Moana pulls herself onto another ledge. Wishing alone had never helped anyone, and Moana had never been good at being a damsel. Over the years, Moana had grown into her role as chief, taking on more responsibility from her parents. Villagers often came to her first, now, with questions and concerns, and it was with confidence and wisdom that she answered them. There had been a titter about the village lately, wondering if a new voyage would soon be undertaken to find more islands. To be honest, there were no plans for a trip any time soon—a decade may seem like a long time, but their new village was truly still in its infancy. However, the thought wayfinding had snatched Moana’s heart and run with it, and she’d taken it upon herself to scout the waters a ways beyond the reef of the new island.

 

With or without Maui, her people will venture across the sea to find new land. With or without Maui, Moana can complete whatever duty the ocean needed of her now.

 

At this point, the ocean is a large, glittering ball right underneath Moana, with tendrils extending up and around her like fingers. While she can appreciate the protective intent, in reality it’s unbelievably distracting.

 

“Quit it!” she orders, kicking at an ocean wisp creeping up her leg. “You’re making me nervous. You’re the one who sent me here anyway, ocean.”

 

And it was. Moana had been enjoying the aforementioned scouting trip, sailing beyond the reef of her new home, Motuho’ou, when the ocean had suddenly splashed to life before her, rearing up to say hello. The action was slightly unusual, though not unheard of for the playful sea, and Moana had slowed her canoe to a halt all the same. The gleaming water had then presented Moana with a small, nondescript clamshell, its motions uncharacteristically somber. The sea gestured to her neck, and Moana hesitantly added the shell to her necklace, utterly at a loss. Typically, the ocean was more subtle with its gift-giving, but she had decided to roll with it.

 

The ocean had gesticulated again, and Moana clicked the shell open. The pearl inside began to glow, and the entire shell levitated, drifting due east. No matter how she turned her head or body, the shell stayed pointing in that direction as if pulled by an invisible force.

 

Evidently, the ocean wanted her to pursue it. “Oh,” Moana had murmured, absently wondering if anything would surprise her anymore. “Like following a star.”

 

And that star had directed her straight to Lalotai.

 

The sight of the tall, ominous island had been surprising, to say the least. “Lalotai? Really?” Moana had asked the ocean, which rose up to nod at her before splashing back down. Moana sighed, stretching her stiff joints as she stood from the stern. Vague instructions from mythical creatures had been exciting as a kid, but now Moana just felt mildly curious and a little annoyed. She wanted information, dammit.

 

As she climbs, part of Moana hopes that Maui will be waiting for her at the top, ready to take on whatever adventure the ocean has cooked up for them. On the other hand, the chief in her blood is just fine with it.

 

Finally, Moana heaves herself onto the flat top of summit, flopping onto her back to catch her breath and tossing her oar to the side. “I swear, this thing got taller,” she breathes, wiping sweat off her brow. She can see the ocean hover over her for a second before receding over the lip of the mountain, where it will probably fidget about anxiously until she’s back.

 

For a gigantic, all-powerful force of nature, the ocean sure was a fussbudget.

 

Moana’s lungs don’t have quite the impressive dust-clearing capacity as Maui’s so she has to hunt around for the entrance— and really, he’d be most useful as a cleaning implement than anything else, she muses. Never again would she have to dust off the village’s sacred artifacts if Maui was around, Moana thinks to herself with laugh. She half-wishes he were around just so she could tell him that, because his reaction would be priceless.

 

Eventually Moana locates the nose among the other rocks and rubble, and tiptoes onto it. She can’t remember precisely the  _haka_  that Maui had performed, but she manages an approximation of it. “ _Āna! Āna! Āna!”_ she cries, slapping her thighs and stomping her feet. “ _Aue…Hī!”_ It feels good to move so passionately, and by the end of the dance Moana feels energized.

 

The rock beneath her groans and shifts, before sliding open to reveal the gaping maw that is the entrance to Lalotai. It looks just as creepy as it did ten years ago. Just to be certain, Moana clicks open the necklace, and sure enough the pearl points insistently downward into the glowing pit.

 

“If you say so,” she sighs, locking the shell and gripping her oar tightly.

 

The prudent half of Moana’s brain is running around in circles and screaming. Jumping into Lalotai alone, with nothing but her oar? Is she _stupid?_ The other half, the one that tried sailing away from Motunui on a tiny fishing canoe, is dancing with glee at the prospect of adventure.

 

Closing her eyes, Moana jumps—and promptly has all of the wind knocked out of her as she jerks to an abrupt halt. Something cold and solid has her around the waist and is pulling her upwards. The eerie light of Lalotai shrinks before her eyes (though it’s hard to focus with her head spinning) as she’s hauled out of the tunnel, and she looks down at her waist to find the culprit.

 

A giant fishhook.

 

“ _Son of a-”_

 

“ _Bit_ far from your island, ain’tcha chief?”

 

The hook  _yanks_  and she’s flying, but massive hands snatch her out the air. Moana finds herself nose to nose with a face she hasn’t seen in a decade.

 

“ _Maui_.”

 

“Moana.”

 

She studies his face for a few seconds; absolutely nothing has changed and he’s as handsome and smug as ever. The same twinkling eyes and cocky smirk beam back at her, framed by obnoxiously glossy hair. Moana is furious, she wants to beat him with her oar and rip him a new one for disappearing for ten years, but her arms move of their own accord, wrapping around his neck in a tight hug.

 

He drops his hook to return the embrace, and the familiarity of his warmth and strength fills a hole in her heart that she didn’t even know was there. He feels like home.

 

Moana lets herself bask in the feeling for a few moments, and then the rage comes roaring back.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” she demands, snatching his ear like she did so many years ago. The _nerve_ he has, showing up like this.

 

“Ow!” Maui yelps, still holding her. “What am I doing? What were  _you_  doing, jumping into Lalotai?”

 

She yanks. He’s not getting off that easy. “I’m looking for Nunya—as in nunya business. Where have you _been?”_

 

Maui scoffs, rolling his eyes. “If you’re about to undo all of the butt-saving I did last year, it is my business. And what do you mean where have I been?”

 

Um, _what?_ Is he acting stupid or has he gone crazy in the last decade? “Last  _year?_  Are you  _joking?_ ” An especially hard yank to punctuate.

 

“OW!” He holds her at arms length to prevent any more ear-grabbing. “Seriously Moana, what is your problem?” To his credit, he does seem sincerely confused and concerned at her ire.

 

Moana stares at him, heart beating a fierce tattoo in her chest. “Maui, it’s been ten years since I saw you.”

 

He openly gawps at her.

 

“What? I…no. That’s impossible,” he asserts, shaking his head and laughing. “You’re wrong. I would have noticed, little mortal.”

 

There is a genuine note of distress in his voice, and Moana feels her ire soften slightly. “Maui, look at me. Do I still look seventeen to you?”

 

His gaze slides from her feet to the top of her head, and she can tell from the way his eyes widen that he registering the differences—longer hair, fuller hips, wiser face.

 

He sets her down so, so gently, and Moana’s heart aches when she sees that his hands are trembling. “I didn’t notice…I had no idea. I mean, time gets weird when you’re a demigod, lemme tell you, but still,” he lets out a nervous laugh, so unlike his usual boisterous self. “Ten years…that’s a long time to humans, isn’t it.” It’s not a question.

 

“Maui…” Moana tries, reaching out a hand towards him.

 

“I mean, what if a hundred years had passed and I never noticed? You’d be…” he doesn’t finish that sentence. Doesn’t have to.

 

“Well, it didn’t, and I’m not, so it’s okay,” Moana says, ever pragmatic in her positivity. “I mean, it’s not _okay,_ but it’s okay. Okay?”

 

He stares at her, face somber, but there’s a flicker of cautious hope.

 

 _“Don’t_ get me wrong, I’m expecting some serious groveling,” Moana clarifies, to which he snorts. “But I forgive you.”

 

She steps close to him, barely a hair between them, and he doesn’t move, his face downcast and gaze trained on the ground. The sight of him is so familiar and so strange at the same time, she thinks. Moana feels a soft smile break out onto her face, and stands on her tiptoes to press her nose against his in a  _hongi_.

 

“Missed ya, sharkhead,” she murmurs, eyes falling shut.

 

When she pulls away, he’s smiling down at her. “Missed you too, curly.”

 

They watch one another for a moment, and then Moana remembers the pressing matters at hand. Her necklace feels heavy with the new addition, drawing her attention. _Right_ , glowing clamshell, realm of monsters, mysterious ocean pantomiming.

 

She breaks the shared gaze, glancing around for her oar, and finds it abandoned a few steps away. She retrieves it, and when she looks at Maui again he’s got the fishhook slung lazily over his shoulder, his usual smirk in place. For the first time, Moana feels a tug of something else when her eyes skip over his powerful build, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on it.

 

“So, what’s waiting for us down there this time?” he asks.

 

 _Us._  Such a simple word but full of so much meaning. She can’t help but wonder if Maui even realizes he said it.

 

“Not sure,” Moana answers honestly, and clicks open the necklace to reveal its homing capabilities. It pulls her insistently towards Lalotai’s gate, garnering a curious look from Maui. “The ocean wanted me to follow this and here I am.” A thought strikes her. “Why are  _you_ here, Maui?”

 

Maui shrugs, coming to stand with her at the edge of the entrance. “I was minding my own business, enjoying a nice papaya, when your old buddy the wonder puddle grabbed me and catapulted me towards this place.” He reaches out to shut the necklace for her, flicking her nose playfully when she looks down automatically. “I had a hunch it would be you getting yourself into trouble again.”

 

 _There’s_ her Maui. Moana pokes him in the shoulder with her oar, unimpressed. “Now  _that_  is rich coming from the guy I had to save from the singing hermit crab.”

 

“Coconut crab,” he corrects with exaggerated snootiness, and snatches the oar from her. “Aw, you still have this one? I’m touched,” he chuckles, noticing his old inscription.

 

“Ugh,” Moana groans, though secretly relishing in the familiar banter. “It’s a good oar, even with your scribbling.”

 

Maui hums noncommittally, turning the oar in his hands. “Uh-huh, sure.”

 

Moana sighs. “Look, I’ve got a clam to investigate, so move it mister demigod of silky hair and a fat ego,” she commands, grabbing for the oar.

 

Maui, forever obnoxious, raises it out of her reach. “You think my hair is silky?” he quips, voice low.

 

There’s that tug in her belly again. Moana ignores it, huffing. “Seriously, Maui. Are you gonna help me or do I need to have the ocean blowdart you again?” Secretly, she wants him to demand to accompany her on whatever this adventure is, but she’s not going to tell _him_ that.

 

Maui snorts, handing back the oar. “As  _if_  the ocean could keep me from you,” he mutters, tone surprisingly serious.

 

Moana doesn’t have time to ponder that particular gem of a thought, however, as Maui sweeps her up with one powerful arm, and leaps into the ominous darkness of Lalotai.

 

 

**TBC**

 


	2. A New Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Installment number two! Disclaimers from chapter one still apply (and will probably apply for the rest of the story lmao). 
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> EDITED NOTE: Nay, thine eyes do not deceive you. I revamped chapters 1-5, adding about 800-1000 words each, which is why the word count jumped by like 3.5K. Nothing plot-wise changed, I just wanted more introspection/detail. Hopefully I managed to fix all of those typos too.

 

Lalotai is just as awful as Moana remembers, though it’s considerably less terrifying when you have an overzealous demigod with you to chop up any monster that halfway looks at you.

 

Moana leaves the necklace open, allowing it to guide them through the sprawling maze of monsters and grotesque plants. Her stomach twists as she remembers the horrors she had encountered last time, and she steps closer to Maui.

 

The monsters are no match for Maui’s fishhook, and after a few scuffles they seem to avoid the pair altogether, skittering away at the very sight of them. Apparently, news travels fast in Lalotai.

 

“So,” Moana starts, sick of the semi-uncomfortable silence. “After all this is done, whatever _it_ is…are you going to visit me—I mean, Motuho’ou?”

 

Maui looks sideways at her, swinging his hook lazily. “Why?” he asks, smirk in place. “Were you pining for me?”

 

If Moana could roll her eyes any harder they’d fall out of her head. “ _Hilarious_. Hei-Hei does miss you, though.” Or maybe he would, if he had the brainpower.

 

Maui turns to her now, gaping. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. That chicken is still alive _?”_

 

Moana laughs at that, thinking fondly of the hardy bird. “Hei-Hei survived the Kakamora, the battle with Te Ka, almost drowning several times…you think something as benign as _age_ would kill him?” she points out, and to that Maui gives a contemplative frown.

 

“Fair enough,” he allows. “He’s gotta be _ancient_ though.”

 

Moana shrugs. “He’s no spring chicken,” she agrees, and chuckles at her own joke. “When Hei-Hei passes, he’ll be survived by his many children. His ineffable wisdom lives on,” Moana deadpans, garnering a laugh from the demigod.

 

“Drumstick managed to procreate? That’s nothing short of a miracle,” Maui remarks, genuine amazement in his voice.

 

Moana can’t help but concede to that, but before she can voice her agreement, a huge, pink tongue snaps out of the darkness and snatches Maui’s fishhook from his hands. Maui yelps in an impressive falsetto, before whirling around to find the culprit. Moana follows suit, though without nearly as much to-do. _Men_ , she thinks to herself. Always so dramatic.

 

“Hey!” Maui snarls, locating the offender. A gigantic, three-eyed frog stares back at them, the tip of the hook sticking out of its mouth. It’s perched on the underside of the frond of huge, purple plant, blinking owlishly at them. It has bright green skin, with shiny brown eyes, and despite the circumstances…it’s pretty cute, actually.

 

Before Maui can beat the snot out of it, Moana leaps in front of him, hands up defensively. “Wait! Don’t hurt it,” she orders.

 

“It’s got my  _hook_ ,” he states, like that’s license to rip it to shreds.

 

She gently pushes him back, palms on his chest. His tattoos seem to tremble with anger under her hands. “Let me try,” she implores. Moana doesn’t really know why she’s doing this, based on her experience most of the creatures in this realm are violent, bloodthirsty beasts. There’s just something in her heart that tells her this one might be different.

 

Moana approaches the frog slowly, hands up to show their lack of a weapon. This close she can see it has a tail, slowly moving side to side. _Huh_. She walks even closer, and it does nothing but watch her quietly.

 

Well, it’s worth a shot. “Hey, boy, who’s a good froggie?” she asks tentatively, using her best baby-voice.

 

“ _Gods_ , Moana it’s a huge demon frog, not a puppy,” Maui mutters behind her.

 

The frog blinks at her, the three eyes just slightly out of sync. Suddenly, it drops from the frond, sitting in front of her, tail wagging a bit more. Hesitantly, Moana reaches out a hand, stopping just before she touches the frog. She really hopes this works, or else she’s frog food.

 

To her pleasant surprise, it instantly leans forward, rubbing its head against her palm like an insistent cat. It’s skin is cold but blessedly slime-free, she notes with a sigh of relief.

 

More importantly, she was right about the creature. Moana scrubs her hands over its scaly skin, cooing, “Who’s a good frog? You are! You are!”

 

Its tail is wagging ferociously now, thumping against the sand, and she gives it a final pat before stepping back. “Okay, now be a good frog and drop the hook.  _Drop it_.” She points to the ground, and the frog obediently opens its mouth to release the now very slimy fishhook.

 

“Good boy,” she praises, petting it again, before turning to Maui. “Told ya.”

 

Maui rolls his eyes, gingerly picking up his hook. “Yuck. If this frog spit messes with my powers, it’s on you, kid.”

 

“Not a kid,” Moana objects, petting the frog absently. “Okay buddy, we gotta go now. Be a good froggie and run off and play, okay?” To be honest, Moana would rather have the beast stick around, cute as it was. But they had a mission, and she needed to focus.

 

It blinks at her, a little unnerving in its blankness.

 

“Okay, bye!” Moana grabs Maui’s hand and pulls him away, once again on the path of the necklace. They barely get a few feet before a large stick is dropped in front of them, nearly hitting Moana in the skull. Moana looks up, and finds the frog watching her intently from its spot on another large plant.

 

“Can I kill it  _now?_ ” Maui asks, brow raised.

 

“No!” Moana denies, reaching down to pick up the stick. The action causes the frog to perk up, its hindquarters shifting eagerly.

 

“Um,” she hesitates, before hurling the stick as far as she can. “Fetch?”

 

The frog immediately jumps after it, snatching it out of the air with its tongue. Seconds later, the stick is at her feet again. Okay, so it’s a giant frog monster that likes to play fetch. She picks up the stick, careful to avoid the slobber.

 

“Of course you make an animal sidekick out of the three-eyed toad demon, princess” Maui scoffs, though there’s fondness in his voice. “Hei-Hei isn’t here so you had to make do.”

 

Moana throws the stick at his face.

 

Some time later (and  _wow_  is her arm tired) they reach what appears to be a small clearing, flanked by boulders covered in creepy-looking barnacles. Moana can’t see anything beyond it but a large, dark rock, but the clam is still insistently pointing her forward, so she shrugs and continues on.

 

Maui looks uneasy. “I don’t like this. It’s too quiet.”

 

He’s right—the monsters don’t seem enthusiastic to leave their sea forest, but Moana would bet her canoe that there’s not a single inch of this realm that’s not at least mildly deadly.

 

She’s proven right two heartbeats later when her feet begin to sink rapidly into the sand. She yelps, trying to pull her legs out of the slimy earth, but to no avail—and movement only seems to quicken the process.

 

“Quicksand?!” she hears her companion shout, and to her horror, Maui is already up to his waist.

 

“Maui, transform!” she cries, panic stricken. He’s sinking too fast!

 

And he does, but none of the shifts seem to help, and every move he makes pulls him deeper into the muck. She tries to wade over to him, but lateral movement is nearly impossible. He shifts back into human form, up to his chest in the stuff.

 

“I am  _not_  going to be killed by  _sand!”_ Maui growls, one arm trapped and the other still holding the hook aloft.

 

Moana casts around desperately for a way out—the ocean is too far away to help, and even the fishhook is useless! Unless…

 

Moana sucks in the deepest breath she can, and summons her loudest chief voice.

 

“Froggie!  _Fetch!_ ”

 

The familiar pink tongue flashes out from behind her, latching onto Maui’s hook. There’s a pause, and for a horrible second Moana wonders if her plan will fail, but not a moment later Maui and his hook are yanked from the sand, sailing over her shoulder. It worked!

 

In a flash of blue light Maui immediately shifts into a hawk, flying back to Moana who is now up to her chin in the quicksand. His talons close around the oar she holds above her head, and with a mighty beat of his wings, Maui frees her from the sandy trap (though it feels like she left her stomach behind).

 

With Moana in tow he retreats back to safe ground, gently releasing her and changing back into human form.

 

“Are you okay?” they ask each other at the exact same time. There’s a beat, and both Maui and Moana burst out laughing. In spite of the situation, she feels…invigorated. _Alive._ Moana hadn’t realized it, but she had missed the thrill of adventuring.

 

“I can’t believe that worked,” Moana manages between chuckles, wiping a stray tear from her eye. Whether it’s from mirth, relief, or terror, she doesn’t know.

 

“Maybe I’m wrong about the animal sidekick thing,” Maui muses, brushing sticky sand from his body. The frog has three eyes locked on Moana, but at Maui’s comment one of them shifts over to gaze at him instead.

 

Maui grimaces. “Nevermind.”

 

“Froggie, ignore him,” Moana says, petting the beast on the head. He reminds her of Pua, though with a little less whimsy. “I’ll call you Kekoa. Thank you for saving us.”

 

Maybe it’s Moana’s imagination, but it looks like Kekoa nods in acknowledgement at her, and she can see his tail wagging steadily. Despite the somewhat creepy eyes, the frog is pretty adorable. Who would have thought that the realm of monsters could yield such a good friend?

 

“I’ll have to fly us across,” Maui decides, cutting off Moana’s musing. “And I’m not carrying slimeball over there, so say your goodbyes.” To this credit, Maui does give Kekoa a single, curt pat on the head.

 

Moana scratches the frog under the chin, and all three eyes squint with that ubiquitous animal bliss. “Bye, Kekoa. We’ll be back. Er, maybe.” Kekoa licks her hand as she pulls away, and steps back obediently to give her and Maui more space.

 

Maui shapeshifts into a hawk, and Moana holds up the oar for him to grab onto once more. The next moment they’re soaring over to the large rock on the far side of the clearing. The clam is going nuts, pulling so hard against Moana’s neck that it actually hurts, and she’s afraid it will break the necklace.

 

“Maui, let me down,” she orders, but he doesn’t immediately let go.

 

“I’m not letting you get stuck in that stuff again,” he protests. Moana rolls her eyes. Last time they were here he was happy to let her get eaten by terrible monsters, now he’s determined to protect her from vaguely dangerous dirt. Typical.

 

“At least fly closer,” she presses, and he does. They’re hovering right in front of the massive, dark stone, now blanketed in its impressive shadow. It has almost a blue shimmer, and Moana is immediately reminded of the ocean. Adjusting her grip on the oar, Moana uses one hand to unclip the clam from her necklace; it feels alive in her palm, and tugs her hand forward as it tries to get to the rock.

 

At this distance, Moana can now see that there are tiny inscriptions all over the stone, not unlike those on Maui’s fishhook. She releases the clam and it beelines to the stone as if pulled by powerful magnetism, clicking into an indent right in the center. A wave of energy rolls out from the clam, igniting the inscriptions in a bright blue light.

 

Maui jerks back instinctively, nearly causing Moana to lose her grip, but she’s too enchanted by the stone to care. It seems to come alive, the surface shifting like scales, apically constricting down a midline and forming a groove down the center of the rock. It continues to fold into itself until the furrow gapes open, revealing the mouth of a cave. Finally, it settles, freezing into hard stone once more as the light fades from the inscriptions.

 

“That was new,” Moana deadpans, and Maui chirrups in agreement from above her. “Well, onward my noble steed, let’s see what’s inside.” Yesterday Moana was weaving _t_ _apa_ mats with a few other village women, and now she’s uncovering magical caves by way of magical clamshells in the magical demon underworld. Worse, she’s _used_ to it already. When did Moana accept absurdity as a normal aspect of her life?

 

This time Maui squawks, and it’s almost impressive that he can convey his dryly-sarcastic demeanor even in hawk-form. Nevertheless, he swoops into the mouth of the cave, hesitantly dropping Moana onto the ground. Moana hops around a bit, digging her feet into the sand. It doesn’t give, and she presents Maui with a thumbs-up. After he’s certain she’s not sinking, Maui shifts back into a human.

 

Moana takes in what she can from the cave, but it’s prohibitively dark. She steps forward tentatively, and hisses when her foot comes into contact with freezing water. “Cold!” she pulls her foot back.

 

“Psh, mortals,” Maui scoffs, rolling his eyes (probably, it’s too dark to tell but Moana knows him well enough) and steps into the water. He too, yelps, and shrinks back. “ _Ai!_  That is cold!”

 

Moana squints, unable to see anything beyond a few feet in front of them thanks to the light from the cave entrance. Moana is a brave woman, but there’s a line between courage and overt stupidity. “It’s too dark, Maui. What if there are traps?”

 

“Then I’ll shift into something with better night vision and carry you, mere mortal,” he responds easily, already lifting his hook to do so. “What sidekick would you like this time, princess?” he jests, smirking at her.

 

“Ugh, Maui!” Moana slaps his arm with both hands, one for the mortal comment and then another for the obnoxious nickname. Ten years had clearly done nothing to improve his maturity or sense of humor.

 

Before either can say another word, however, the cave is suddenly illuminated in glittery blue light. Moana looks around to see torches lit with blue fire lining the walls of the cave. They’re beautiful, with staves made of pink coral and decorated with lustrous shells of all shapes and sizes. The path of the cave curves away further down, blocking her view of anything beyond.

 

“Uh…” Maui mutters. Moana blinks, and slaps his arm, twice in quick succession again, and the torches flicker off.

 

“Hey!” he protests, rubbing his arm, but Moana ignores him. As _if_ her human hands could actually cause him pain. This time she just claps twice, and they blink on again. At this point Maui has caught on, and he claps twice—darkness. Another two claps, and the blue light is back.

 

“Huh,” Maui contemplates, leaning close to observe the blue flames. “Clap-on torches. I like it.”

 

“I’ll be sure to add them to that Maui statue my village will never build,” Moana snarks, stepping into the ankle-deep water with a grimace. “C’mon, let’s go.”

 

As they walk, the water gradually becomes deeper and deeper until they’re wading in waist-high iciness. Moana has to hold her oar above her head to keep it from dragging in the water, as does Maui with his fishhook. It’s annoying, but at least the task prevents Maui from clapping the torches on and off repeatedly as he’d been doing for nearly ten minutes. Small blessings.

 

Finally, up ahead the cave seems to widen into a cavernous room, and Moana quickens her pace, eager to escape the cold darkness. To her disappointment, though, the cavern appears to hold nothing but more cold, waist-high water. “It’s empty,” she moans, frustrated.

 

“There’s gotta be something hidden in here,” Maui presses, running a hand over the cave walls. He’s right, Moana knows. There’s always _something_.

 

Moana pauses, taking a moment to observe the demigod. He’s throwing himself into the adventure undividedly, even though this time it truly doesn’t have anything to do with him. Furthermore, he’s behaving as if a decade hasn’t passed since they last spent any time together. Sure, they had bonded during the trip to Te Fiti, but for the past decade Moana has been under the impression that Maui had forgotten her. She’s grown into a woman, into a chief. She wonders if his casualness is for her sake, or his own.

 

Moana observes Maui for another moment, before shaking herself. Thoughts for another time.

 

She wades to the center of the cavern, squinting at the surface of the water. The ocean might be a little “kooky-dooks,” as Maui had so pleasantly phrased it, but Moana is certain she’s here for a reason. She scans the water, searching for a disturbance, for something, anything—and  _hah_! There!

 

“Look!” she crows, pointing at the tremor in the water. “A little whirlpool!”

 

Maui joins her, his hair falling over her shoulder as he leans over her. His warmth feels extraordinary in the frigid depths. “How’s something that tiny gonna help us?” he grumbles. Looking back on it, Moana should have realized right then how crazy things were about to get.

 

“Only one way to find out,” Moana replies, and steps back so she can hold her oar out in front of her. Maui doesn’t seem inclined to move, so she’s pressed up against him, her head fitting perfectly under his chin. He’s in the way, but Moana doesn’t feel like complaining.

 

Sucking in an anticipatory breath, Moana pokes the tiny swirl of water with the tip of her oar. A pulse of reverberates the room, the spiral trembling, and with a  _whoosh_  it expands into a gigantic whirlpool!

 

Moana shrieks, holding onto her oar for dear life as the current pulls them into the vortex.

 

“Moana!” Maui exclaims, reaching for her. Moana can barely see anything, the cavern walls spinning around her so rapidly that the torches blur into one continuous blue ring of light. She feels Maui’s arm wrap around her, and that’s when the maelstrom closes over their heads.

 

  

**TBC**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thick plottens!
> 
> Please feel free to point out mistakes, I still have no beta so that would be immensely helpful. Also, reviews are dope.
> 
> Tapa mats: mats made from bark cloth


	3. The Oar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you guys SO MUCH for all of the comments. Your feedback means the world to me and I'm so so so glad ya'll are enjoying this, because I'm having a blast writing it. 
> 
> Second, holy exposition, batman! This chapter is long af and full of plotty goodness. For the record, this is when I start heavily using Polynesian mythos to fuel the story. However, I admittedly lack an Oceanic Trust like the filmmakers and only have google and some ebooks on Polynesian mythology/culture to guide me. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this one, it's where the good story stuff truly begins.
> 
> EDITED NOTE: Nay, thine eyes do not deceive you. I revamped chapters 1-5, adding about 800-1000 words each, which is why the word count jumped by like 3.5K. Nothing plot-wise changed, I just wanted more introspection/detail. Hopefully I managed to fix all of those typos too.

 

Moana can barely register what happening around her, Maui has her pressed so tightly to his chest. They’re underwater, and moving fast, but it’s not like the entrance to Lalotai, which had been a straight shot—no, this is up and down and side to side and was that a loop-de-loop? All she can do is hope she doesn’t drown or lose her skirt in the tumultuous water.

 

Only a few seconds pass but it feels like eternity before the motion stops, and the vortex spits them out into calm water. The relief only lasts seconds, though, as Moana registers her lack of air. She looks up, but it’s nothing but a blue expanse—who knows how far away she is from the surface, and she’ll be unconscious in minutes. Moana clutches her throat in panic and turns to Maui, who seems to realize this the second she does. His eyes widen in true horror and he swims toward her, but jerks to a halt, staring at her hair. 

 

Moana blinks at him, confused by his hesitation. Suddenly, a bizarre feeling of dryness starts at the crown of her hair and expands downwards, encapsulating her skull. Unable to resist any longer, Moana inhales, expecting a deadly lungful of seawater. To her surprise, she gets nothing but air. Moana gasps, coughing, and the noise is enormously loud in the small space.

 

The sea has given her a personal air bubble.

           

She can feel the water around her shiver as if saying hello, and Moana then realizes with a jolt that the ocean around her is once again  _her_  ocean, and the panic fades. She is safe here.

 

Maui is gawping at her, bubbles spouting from his mouth in a comical stream. “I’m okay, Maui,” she wheezes, even though the sensation of the bubble is very odd, and her voice sounds strange in the small airspace.

 

He doesn’t respond, still staring at her, until he begins to turn a little blue. “Maui!”

 

He snaps out of it and quickly shifts into the shark she’s grown to know, swimming to be close to her. Reassured despite the circumstances, Moana takes a moment to observe their surroundings. For the most part, it’s dark seawater. They’re near the ocean floor, and she can pick out sea creatures flitting amongst the kelp forests and sediment. However, other than the tiny, swirling current demarcating the entrance to the whirlpool, there’s not much to see. That is, until she turns around.

 

Her jaw drops when she sees what lies before them.

 

A colossal temple towers over them, as big as the mountain she used to climb on Motunui. The sprawling structure is made of dark stone, and is covered in sea grass, algae, kelp, and coral, utterly lush with plant life of all colors and shapes. It’s as if the temple itself is alive.

 

“ _Woah_ ,” she breathes. She’s never seen anything so massive in her life, and Maui looks just as floored as her, his shark mouth gaping open to reveal rows of sharp teeth.

 

Moana is still admiring the sheer enormity of the temple when the ocean shifts around her, gently propelling her towards the huge entrance. She can’t see any doors, just a shadowy darkness beyond. The vastness of the temple is intimidating, but the ocean doesn’t seem perturbed, and Moana can only hope her friend hasn’t led them astray.

 

Following the insistence of the ocean, Moana begins swimming to the temple, Maui gliding quietly next to her. Her oar is a hindrance to tow with her but she manages. The temple gates yawn around them as they pass through, and Moana slows her pace so she can admire the intricate carvings on the walls and pillars. They’re rich with the legends of the creation of the universe—the union and separation of Ranginui and Papatuanuku, of Tāne throwing stars into the sky, all etched with caring precision. Te Fiti is featured as well, and the goddess is beautifully rendered in the inscriptions, surrounded by flowers, trees, and ferns.

 

Moana is so distracted by the carvings that she doesn’t notice when Maui halts, until he throws out a fin to stop her as well. “Maui, what-”

 

“ _Look_.”

 

Moana turns and looks up. And up, and up, and  _up_ , as a creature as large as the moon, it would seem, looms before them. A magnificent whale, bigger even than Maui’s shift, floats gracefully at the head of the temple a scant ways from the duo. Next to her, Maui bows his head as much as he can in his shark form, smacking Moana with a flipper to do the same.

 

“Tangaroa,” he utters, voice low with respect. “It is an honor.”

 

Moana glances at him, awed.

 

“Maui,” a voice echoes through the temple, somehow both lilting and deep, song-like and powerful. “It has been some time, child,” it intones, voice warm with affection.

 

Maui raises his head, then, and Moana follows his lead, finally able to look at the truly gargantuan being. “Moana, this is Tangaroa, god of the sea,” Maui says, gesturing with a fin. “Tangaroa, this is Moana, the girl who restored Te Fiti.”

 

Moana blushes at the title, unaccustomed to such easy praise from Maui. Tangaroa looks to her now, and she wonders what he can see beyond her human skin. She feels terribly small in front of the god, but while he exudes a power greater than she can truly know, she is not afraid.

 

“Moana,” the god says slowly in that profound, melodic voice. “I must thank you. The world owes you a great debt.”

 

Moana waves her hands, completely flustered. An ancient god is thanking  _her_ , a mortal woman, what even is her life these days? “No, no, it was my honor that the ocean chose me,” she says, and then realizes with horror that she just dismissed the gratitude of an  _ancient god_. Speaking of that…

 

“You have a question, my child,” Tangaroa murmurs knowingly. “Ask it.”

 

Moana blinks, nervous, but also too curious to resist. “Are you the ocean? Are you the one who…chose me?”

 

A bellowing, melodious noise suddenly erupts from Tangaroa, vibrating the temple walls, and Moana realizes at once that the god is _laughing_.

 

“No, child,” he answers eventually, as the bone-shaking chuckles die away. “The ocean is another being entirely. We simply have an understanding.”

 

Moana decides not to press further. “She is a good friend of mine,” Moana says instead, and feels the ocean shiver affectionately around her in response.

 

“You have another question.”

 

Moana swallows uncertainly. The gravity of the situation bears down upon her, now, as she realizes there must be something terrible happening. She can think of no other reason the ocean would pull her from her island duties. “Why did she bring me to you?”

 

Suddenly, the sea around them grows cold, and she can see the god’s massive form stiffen, just slightly. A frisson of genuine fear runs up Moana spine, and she can feel Maui’s eyes on her. What on earth could perturb an ancient being so?

 

“I am afraid that the world is in great danger, Moana” Tangaroa reveals. “Greater even than the curse of Te Fiti.” Beside her, Maui tenses at the words.

 

Moana feels her stomach drop. She had figured all-consuming darkness was about as bad as it could get, but she probably should have learned to stop assuming anything at this point.

 

“What happened?” Maui asks for her, his voice taut.

 

Tangaroa gestures with a massive fin to the intricate carvings on the walls surrounding them. “Before the birth of the world you know, there was only the sky father Ranginui and the earth mother Papatuanuku,” he hums. “My father and mother.”

 

With a sweep of his fin, the inscriptions begin to glow, illuminating the tale of the creation of the world.

 

“From the beginning of time they were locked together in an embrace, and my brothers and I were forced to live in that confined darkness. We longed for light and freedom. One brother, Tūmatauenga, suggested we kill them and escape.”

 

The light spreads from carving to carving, bathing the temple in a blue glow.

 

“Our elder brother Tāne proposed we push them apart instead, and so we did—Ranginui lived as a stranger above us and Papatuanuku stayed below to nurture us and breathe life into the earth. We had space to move and breathe, and we rejoiced. It is from Tāne you received forests, and it was Tūmatauenga who bestowed upon you the arts of fishing, boat-making, and cultivation. But one brother…Tāwhirimātea, the god of storms and winds, he was furious over our actions.”

 

Moana feels a chill at the familiar tale, and drifts closer to Maui unconsciously.

 

“He could not bear to hear the cries of our father and mother as they were torn apart, nor see the tears of Ranginui as he was forced into the sky alone. And so he vowed to torment us for the rest of eternity, sending terrible winds and thunderstorms to smash Tāne’s forests and to tear apart my seas.”

 

Moana knows this legend, as all her people do…but to hear it from Tangaroa himself, she cannot help but gasp at the painful story.

 

“And so it has been for thousands of years,” Tangaroa rumbles, turning away from them. There is great pain in his voice, and Moana’s heart aches for him.

 

“But now…” Suddenly, the inscriptions cease to glow. “A new anger besieges my brother, it consumes him from the inside. His fury is absolute and he yearns to end the world as you know it.”

 

Moana and Maui share a horrified glance. “But why? Why _now?”_

 

Tangaroa gazes at Moana, his eyes sorrowful. “There are beings beyond your waters, Moana. Two-legged, like you, but paler, greedier, and infinitely more cruel. They lay claim to any land they come upon, leeching it dry of any life until it is but a husk, before moving onto the next. They fill my brother’s winds with poisonous fumes, and he has seen the wreckage they leave of the earth. Tāwhirimātea…he is furious.”

 

Moana feels cold dread pooling in her belly at the revelation. Who are these pale beings? She fears suddenly for her island, her people. What if they are attacked?

 

Tangaroa sighs deeply, gigantic bubbles streaming from his blowhole. “Tāwhirimātea…my foolish brother. He cannot stand the sight of such creatures that would abuse a world born from our parents’ sacrifice. He wishes to reunite Ranginui and Papatuanuku, and to once again confine the world to darkness, so as to permanently obliterate the humans who destroy this earth.”

 

Moana feels light headed, and not just because she has a small space to breathe. Restoring Te Fiti seems like small taro roots compared to a task this enormous. It feels as if the weight of the world once again rests upon her shoulders, and Moana must take a moment to calm the panic boiling in her chest.

 

“How?” she asks, trying to muster up the courage to deal with the answer.

 

“This is why I have summoned you, Moana. Tāwhirimātea will need me in order to complete the union, but my realm protects me…for now. You must sail to Tāwhirimātea and convince him to speak with me.”

 

“Why can’t you just go?” Maui asks boldly, his shark tail moving agitatedly.

 

Tangaroa simply closes his eyes, clearly expecting the question. “He must make a vow before our father Ranginui that he will not strike me. Tāwhirimātea may be a victim to his anger, but he is honorable and will not break that promise.”

 

Moana looks up at Tangaroa, meeting the kind gaze of the whale god. She clutches Gramma Tala’s necklace, finding strength from it. “Tangaroa, I am only mortal. How can I persuade a god?”

 

Tangaroa’s eyes widen in genuine surprise, and once again the temple trembles with his song-like mirth.

 

“My child,” the god murmurs, “you have not been mortal for a long time. Did you not realize you are well on your way to becoming a demigoddess?”

 

The world stops.

 

“I’m a  _what?”_  she gasps at the same time that Maui makes a horrible choking noise, shifting back into his human form out of shock.

 

He shifts again, only managing to transform his upper-half back into a shark. “She’s a  _what?!_ ” Maui demands, and cycles through three more shifts before finally settling as a shark once more.

 

Tangaroa gazes at Moana curiously, and his tone is kind when he says, “Divinity is not given to demigods, Moana, it is earned. When the ocean chose you, you began that journey.”

 

Moana balks. “But I don’t feel any different! And I don’t have any powers!” Moana doesn’t know what to do with her hands, she’s so utterly flummoxed, and ends up waving them around anxiously as she speaks.

 

Tangaroa’s eyes become sympathetic, which sets off another wave of alarm. “My child, do you remember the last time you set foot on your island?”

 

Moana’s heart stops. “What do you mean? I was home just yesterday, before all of this started. I was on a scouting trip. I…I was…” she trails off. To her horror, the memory of boarding her canoe is terribly blurry, like it had happened weeks ago, not the prior morning.

 

“Moana, when the ocean came to you, you had been away from your people for nearly a month in mortal time.”

 

No. No no no no no no  _no_. Moana propels herself backward, panic blacking out her vision. “No, no, that can’t be right. You’re wrong!”

 

“Moana, wait!” Maui says, before shifting back into a human so he can wrap his arms around her. He holds her tight to his chest, one of his giant hands cradling her head. She clings to him, trembling and terrified. The bubble must expand to cover his head, too, because she can hear him murmuring comforting words into her hair.

 

Moana turns to Tangaroa. “My people…are they okay?” Her voice shakes but does not break.

 

“They believe you were swept away in a storm,” the god reveals. “They loved you very much and mourned for you, but you have led your people well, Moana. They are strong, and they have your mother and father, and a wise council to lead them. You need not worry for them.”

 

The words are comforting, but also heartbreaking. Anguish sets on Moana anew, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, as she thinks of her parents. They must be devastated. “My people…my island. I’m supposed to protect them.”

 

She’s supposed to be _there_ for them, on the island. More than anything in the world in this moment, Moana wishes it were all a dream. If only she could wake now, warm and safe in her _fale_ , Pua snoring at the foot of her mat. She would go about her day, fishing for _mukau_ , weaving baskets, enjoying the _palusami_ her mother had prepared, and would wonder why she had such a strange dream the night before. _If only._

 

“And you have,” Tangaroa responds, breaking her reverie. “But now you must protect the  _world_. Will you take on this task, and sail to Tāwhirimātea’s island to face my brother?”

 

Moana draws a deep breath, hand clasping her necklace once more for strength. To be honest, Moana doesn’t want to. But she must.

 

Moana squares her shoulders and pushes gently away from Maui, though her palms linger on his warm skin. She cannot bear to look at him yet, and instead swims up to Tangaroa.

 

“I will,” she vows, heart breaking.

 

“Then come to me, child. Offer me that oar and receive a gift from the gods.”

 

Uncertain, Moana looks back at Maui. He appears stricken but gives her an encouraging smile nonetheless, strengthening her resolve. She clutches the oar tightly and swims closer to Tangaroa, until she could reach out and touch him. This close, he looks as big as an island.

 

Steeling herself, Moana offers the oar, holding it up with both hands. Without much ceremony, Tangaroa drifts minutely forward, and brushes the oar with the tip of his snout. A pulse of energy erupts from the contact, extinguishing Moana’s air bubble and nearly knocking her away. At once, ancient inscriptions radiate outward from that point as if carved by invisible hands, throwing sparks as they skitter across the paddle. The etchings shine blindingly bright as they unfurl on the wood until the entire oar glows with the godly markings.

 

Moana’s chest heaves, her entire body trembling. She can feel  _mana_  seeping into her veins from where she clutches the oar, and it pulsates throughout her body with her heartbeat. It’s as if every emotion she’s ever felt is happening again—the day the ocean chose her, the death of Tala, the exultation of sailing for the first time,  _everything_  all at once, again and again. She wants to laugh, to cry, to scream, to dance. Her very soul  _burns_  with the songs of her ancestors and all she can do is listen.

 

Finally it slows, and the inscriptions dim to a faint glimmer. Her palms sting when she flexes her grip on the oar, and she sucks in a breath.

 

Wait a minute.

 

Moana’s hand flies to her throat. She’s breathing, but she’s definitely still underwater, and the air bubble is definitely gone. She looks at her hands, which are still human, so Tangaroa clearly didn’t turn her into a fish.  _So why isn’t she drowning?_

 

“Um… _what_?” she asks the god, utterly at a loss.

 

If whales could grin, that’s precisely what the sea god would be doing. “With that oar, water is yours to control. You certainly will not drown in it.”

Moana can only blink.

 

“Welcome to the realm of gods, Moana.”

 

“You mean…I can control the ocean?” Moana asks, still completely weirded out by the sensation of breathing underwater. Oh yeah, and the fact that she’s a  _demigoddess_  now.

 

Tangaroa hums. “Not quite, my child, she is still her own spirit. But to the extent that she allows, you may. And it’s not only sea water—it would not be wise to dismiss puddles, either,” the god quips.

 

Moana gapes.

 

At once, Tangaroa turns serious once more. “Time runs short, Moana, and Tāwhirimātea’s anger grows with every passing day. You must go now, as must I. I am vulnerable here, where my brother may lay eyes on me.”

 

Moana hesitates, feeling utterly overwhelmed. “But how do I control it? And how do we find Tāwhirimātea?”

 

“You will learn in time,” Tangaroa murmurs reassuringly, which is profoundly unhelpful. “Tāwhirimātea’s island is beneath the star Rehua. Follow it, and you will find him. ”

 

Moana holds the oar close, the etchings unfamiliar under her skin. “Okay,” she says, tentative. How else is she supposed to respond to the fate of humanity being placed in her hands?

 

The whale god closes his eyes. “You must believe in yourself, Moana, as I believe in you. There is a power within you that you do not know. You must simply find it.”

 

With that, Tangaroa exhales powerfully, a huge cloud of bubbles pouring from his blowhole. The bubbles wash over the god in a gigantic wave, obscuring him from view. When they dissipate, Tangaroa has vanished.

 

Moana nods, though the god is gone and cannot see it. She turns, somewhat mechanically, and swims back to Maui, who is staring at her with awe, wonder, and something else that she cannot name.

 

“So,” she starts, still a little numb from the shock of it all. “Ready to teach me how to be a demigod?”

 

 

**TBC**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a demigoddess is born!! Where will Maui get his jokes now?
> 
> I hope this was informative and interesting, which was my goal lmao. This is basically the chapter that sets the stage for the rest of the story so I tried to make it as straightforward as possible in terms of exposition and such. 
> 
> As for the "pale beings," interpret that as you will :-)
> 
> Fale: a general term used to refer to traditional houses in Samoa
> 
> Mukau: sickle pomfret fish
> 
> Palusami: traditional Fijian dish, made from slowly cooking coconut cream inside the leaf of the taro plant


	4. Not So Shiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! This story has received so many kudos and lovely comments, you guys are awesome. I love seeing your predictions in the comments, it's interesting to see who is close and who comes up with something more creative than I did!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. We seen an old face, though he's got a...new look, you might say.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> EDITED NOTE: Nay, thine eyes do not deceive you. I revamped chapters 1-5, adding about 800-1000 words each, which is why the word count jumped by like 3.5K. Nothing plot-wise changed, I just wanted more introspection/detail. Hopefully I managed to fix all of those typos too.

 

 

So far, Moana’s attempts at mastering the oar have been…dubious, at best.

 

The duo had set off towards the whirlpool, an uncharacteristic silence between them. Maui didn’t seem upset or unhappy, just deep in thought. Moana felt similarly. The weight of this new responsibility weighed heavily upon her, and she was glad to have Maui’s constant strength at her side. What did it even  _mean_  to be a demigod? She had no idea.

 

All she could think about was her island, her people. Tangaroa had said they thought she drowned in a storm, and that notion circled endless in her head, tormenting her. The idea of her mother and father being told that her canoe never returned forced Moana to hold back tears.

 

Lost in contemplation, Moana barely gave it a thought as she used her newly divined oar to open the whirlpool. This, as one might expect, turned out to be a mistake. The oar’s inscriptions lit up the second she touched it, which was the only warning for the chaos that was about to ensue.

 

The tiny whirlpool shuddered violently before exploding into a gigantic vortex, at least twice as powerful as the one before. Both she and Maui were pulled into the churning water before they could blink, and swept along its tumultuous path at a breakneck speed.

 

Moana was so dizzy she hardly even noticed when they arrived at the cavern, erupting out on a geyser of water so powerful it sent them shooting clear out of the tunnel on a powerful wave. They’re saved in the nick of time by Kekoa, whose sticky tongue snatches them both from the air before they can belly-flop into the quicksand.

 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Moana moans from her spot on the rock. The entrance had sealed up the moment they exited, leaving it smooth once more. Maui is next to her, flat on his back and a grimace on his face. Kekoa is perched next to them, another stick in his mouth.

 

“You,” he grunts, sitting up, “need to learn how to control that thing.”

 

Moana looks at the oar miserably, feeling betrayed by something that had been with her for so long. Not even two minutes into being a demigod and she’s already screwing things up. “I know, and I’m sorr—wait,  _what?”_ Moana squints at her oar in disbelief.

 

After the entire ceremony with Tangaroa, ancient glowing etchings and all, and Maui’s obnoxious signature is  _still there_.

 

“Are you kidding me?” she squawks, glaring at the offending wood. His dumb little heart is part of her godly markings. How embarrassing!

 

Maui leans over and plucks it from her hand. “What’s your problem?  _Oh!”_ Maui breaks out into actual knee-slapping guffaws, before pulling Moana up and wrapping a huge arm around her shoulders.

 

“If you think about it, my autograph is actually the first divine inscription you ever got, little miss demigoddess. You’re welcome!” He presses a rough kiss to her temple, before standing up and stretching.

 

Moana gapes at him, face aflame. She touches the spot he had kissed, brain unable to comprehend the affectionate display. The act is both entirely new and confusing; as Maui’s preferred way of expressing fondness is taunts and perhaps a grudging compliment.

 

Maui turns back to her, twirling his hook. “C’mon, curly. We’ve got wayfinding to do,” he says easily, showing exactly zero acknowledgment of what he had just done.

 

Moana gets slowly to her feet. “Okay,” she stutters, and aimlessly fiddles with her oar, still reeling from the innocent kiss. She catches sight of his little sketched heart and quickly flips it over. There’s a part of her that’s actually quite pleased that his signature had stayed, but she squashes it down.

 

Before Maui, Moana had never really had a friend. Sure, she had plenty of friendly acquaintances, being the chief’s daughter, but it was also precisely that title that had oft kept her from forming close bonds. The respect her people had for their chief and his family was so deep, it meant that Moana was revered even from a very young age. Plus, when kids her age had downtime they’d spend it flying kites or exploring the island, whereas Moana typically spent it learning the ropes of chief-hood. And she’d never had a boyfriend either; due the aforementioned reasons as well as the fact there weren’t any boys (or girls) that drew her like the ocean did. Moana couldn’t help it, she’d rather catch a fierce wind and sail the seas than kiss someone or hold hands.

 

Well, until now, apparently.

 

Her reverie is broken by Kekoa bumping his head against her hand, demanding scratchies in return for a lack of stick-throwing. She laughs, obliging the friendly monster. “Good boy, Kekoa.” His good-nature reminds her of Pua, and his single-minded determination is reminiscent of Hei-Hei.

 

With a final pat of Kekoa’s scaly head, she joins Maui at his side. Though her temple still feels, tingly, the blush is gone and her heart rate has slowed. Bashfulness has never been her strong suit, anyway, and for now she’s just glad to see Maui’s boisterous cheeriness again. The solemnly pensive Maui was disconcerting.

 

For now, they need to get out of Lalotai and back to Moana’s canoe. “We should try to find that geyser by Tamatoa’s cave,” Moana proposes. “It sent us right back to our boat, last time.”

 

Maui frowns. “ _Aue_ , how do you even remember that stuff?”

 

Moana elbows him. “I was mortal until about twenty minutes ago, buddy. Resourcefulness is what keeps us… _them_  alive.” The mistake gives her pause, and the reality of her new status hits all over again when she glimpses the etchings on her oar.

 

“Sure, fine,” Maui says, though his voice belies anything but agreement. “What if Tamatoa’s still around? He’d love to get his grubby claws on my fishhook…and that oar, come to think of it.”

 

That’s…actually a pretty good point. Losing her sacred tool within twenty minutes of receiving is not on her list of things to do today, she decides. Moana scowls as she remembers the foul crustacean. “Ugh,” Her grip tightens on her oar. “If he tries to mess with us, I’ll…I’ll…I don’t know what I’ll do, but it’ll be  _bad!”_

 

Maui snorts. “You don’t even know how to use that thing, kid. What are you gonna do, poke his eyes out with it? I’m sure he’s shaking in his little crab boots.”

 

And that…kind of hurts a little, actually. She just got the stupid thing, how can he expect her to be an expert at it already? And coming from Maui, mister  _I can’t use my magical fishhook if my ego is bruised,_  it pisses her off. Besides, _Moana_ was the one who saved Maui’s divine behind during their last soirée with the crab, and she had been a sixteen-year-old mortal to boot. And yet, here Maui stands, dismissing her entirely once again.

 

Moana is pretty sure there’s steam coming out of her ears, and that she’s about to pull a jaw muscle from grinding her teeth so hard. Maybe somber Maui was better after all. “I am twenty-seven, Maui. Twenty. Seven. Not a kid.” She casts around for a way to get distance from him, and in a moment of desperation, climbs onto Kekoa’s back. The beast starts at the sudden movement, but doesn’t shake her off, and she takes that as a positive sign.

 

“Jump, Kekoa!”

 

The frog rockets off like a spring, and Moana has to grab his neck in order to stay onboard. She can hear Maui’s surprised shout of her name, and the distinct noise of him shifting. The frog lands, but quickly takes off again, and she wonders if maybe this was a bad idea.

 

“Woah, Kekoa, woah!” Moana tries, holding on for dear life. “We can stop now! No more jump-EEK!” Another mighty leap and Moana is considering disembarking despite the potential danger. She’s pretty sure her stomach is still on that rock. Finally the frog lands and stays put, and when Moana peeks an eye open she gasps.

 

Kekoa brought her right to Tamatoa’s hideout.

 

She slides off the frog monster’s scaly back, unable to tear her gaze away from Tamatoa’s lair…or what’s left of it.

 

The giant den, once so opulent and beautiful, is in shambles. It’s covered in rocks of all sizes, dead kelp, and most disturbingly what appear to be bones. The vibrant colors have dimmed to grayish hues, and beyond the entrance there is nothing but shadows. The beat of wings and a flash of blue light informs her that Maui has arrived, and she doesn’t need to look at him to feel his ire.

 

“Moana, what-”

 

“Maui, look.” Moana takes matters into her own hands (literally) as she grabs Maui’s face and turns it to the wreckage.

 

“Moana, I…woah.”

 

“Yeah,” Moana agrees, swallowing. “What do you think happened?” Moana disliked the giant crab with a raging passion, but whatever happened here was… _bad_.

 

“No idea,” Maui says, peering into the entrance. There’s nothing remaining of the mountain of riches that used to make up the crab’s nest, and in its place is a scattering of rocks and bones.

 

Maui shrugs, and walks inside despite Moana’s whispered “ _Hey_!”

 

“Guess he must’ve kicked the bucket,” Maui muses. “Or the shell, as it were.” He chuckles at his own joke and Moana rolls her eyes, but trots to catch up with him anyway.

 

Moana looks around the desolate cave. “It looks bigger without the clutter,” she observes. The memory of their last encounter with Tamatoa is clear in her mind, and shivers as she remembers the way he had tossed her around like a doll. The bruises from his claws had lasted for days.

 

She walks to the middle of the cave, intrigued by a crater at the center of it. A shiny, black sphere lies at the center, firmly wedged into the rock. Cracks radiate from it, as if the peculiar thing had crashed into the stone at high speed and got stuck. Tendrils of inky blackness crawl outwards from the sphere, not unlike the cursed veins Moana had seen on her island so many years ago.

 

She doesn’t get to think much on that, however, as the earth beneath her shudders to life. “Woah!” she cries, losing her footing as the rock under her feet shifts violently. Both she and Maui are knocked off the rising platform, though Maui manages to catch her before she crashes to the ground.

 

Before them, a familiar face grins with wicked delight.

 

“Well, well, well,” Tamatoa rumbles in that slimy voice of his as he rears to his full height. “If it isn’t my favorite semi demi mini god and  _his_  favorite chewtoy.”

 

“Hey Crabcakes, it’s been a minute,” Maui acknowledges, brandishing his fishhook.

 

Tamatoa, despite his bravado, looks…sick. He’s emaciated and grey, and his eyes appear cloudy. Moana watches him uneasily, holding her oar in front of her protectively. Something is not right.

 

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Maui snarks, clearly gearing up for a fight.

 

Tamatoa cackles with glee. “Isn’t it lovely?” he asks, picking up a broken bone with his claw. “This pretty little piece is pure gold and lined with diamonds,” he sighs, caressing the fragment, his eyes glazed over.

 

Moana and Maui share a confused look.

 

“Uh…”

 

“And this one—ooh, you’ll like this one, human. It’s a gigantic sapphire, blue as the ocean.” He’s holding a rock with a stray piece of kelp stuck to it. The crustacean hums happily, rubbing the rock against his cheek.

 

“He’s totally lost it!” Maui whispers with delight in his voice.

 

Moana punches him in the arm. “Ahem! Um, Mister Tamatoa. We’re just passing through, so we’ll be on our way and you can have a moment alone with that, uh, treasure.” Moana would have happily used her kickass new oar to beat the old Tamatoa into a pulp, but this creature before her is too unwell to draw any anger.

 

Both of Tamatoa’s eyestalks zero in on Moana, and she flinches slightly at the scrutiny. “Something is different about you, little girl,” he observes, stalking closer. “Hmm…well, either way, you will die.”

 

Without warning he swipes at them, smashing a rock as they both dive out of the way. Shards of stone scatter on the floor of the lair, nearly taking out Moana’s footing. She’s about to move to attack him (and no she’s not exactly sure how, either). The crab seems more interested in his old rival, however, and begins raining blows down upon Maui as he completely ignores Moana. She’s only a little offended.

  

Maui obliges Tamatoa with a fight, but she can tell from one glance that he’s merely playing with the crab monster. Tamatoa is stumbling around as if drunk, his swings aimless and weaker by the minute. At one point he lurches into the light of the cave’s ceiling aperture, making the gauntness of his appearance all the more stark. The glitter of the black ball catches Moana’s eye, and she’s once again reminded of the black veins snaking down Tamatoa’s shell.

 

“It’s poisoning him,” she whispers in realization and pauses.

 

Tamatoa is hideous creature, inside and out, but Moana can’t bring herself to harm him in this state. The sphere needs to go.

 

Now with a new plan, Moana hunts around for anything useful, and spies a large puddle of water collecting in a crevice on the far side of the cave. Suddenly, the melodic voice of Tangaroa is clear in her mind.

 

_“It would not be wise to dismiss puddles.”_

 

Moana scrambles over to the far side of the cave as quickly as she can, and raises the oar in front of her. “Okay, water, move.”

 

The puddle remains motionless.

 

“I said move!” Still nothing.

 

Moana is about to kick the puddle in anger, but stops herself. Anger will not help, she tells herself, and tries to find the energy she had been bestowed not an hour before.

 

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. “I am one with the oar, one with the water.” Zero puddle movement.

 

“Come  _on!”_

 

Suddenly, the oar glows in her hands, and the puddle trembles before leaping in the air. “Yes!” Moana lifts the oar in the air victoriously, and the water dances around as if in jubilation with her.

 

Moana whirls around, and finds Maui taunting the crab in his hawk form, swooping at him without dealing any blows. Tamatoa swipes at him clumsily, nearly losing his balance and stumbling. She observes the crab’s wavering shuffle for another moment before an idea strikes.

 

Swinging her oar around, Moana directs the water to splash beneath Tamatoa’s pointy little legs. The combination of his weakened state and the slippery rock causes all of the decopod’s limbs to slide out from underneath him, and he topples to the ground with a noisy crash. Moana takes the chance to leap onto his back, and jams the tip of her paddle underneath the black sphere.

 

“Moana, what are you  _doing?”_  She hears Maui yell from somewhere, but she ignores him.

 

With a grunt, she pries the ball loose, and it tumbles off of Tamatoa’s shell. The inky veins immediately begin to recede. “Got it!” she crows, but that shout of triumph turns into a yelp as Tamatoa regains his footing and violently shakes her off. She lands hard; the wind knocked out of her and her oar nowhere to be seen.

 

“Die, annoying girl-child!” Tamatoa shrieks, hurling a huge stone at Moana’s prone form before he collapses, unconscious. Moana flinches, too winded to move properly. The stone hurdles toward her, promising certain death, but at the last second a green blur streaks in front of her, taking the blow.

 

Kekoa’s body lands before Moana as the stone crashes somewhere beside her, its deadly path diverted. She’s frozen the spot with fear and dismay, making an abortive move towards the creature. Dread pools in Moana’s belly when the frog stays utterly still.

 

“No, Kekoa!” Moana finally regains her senses and crawls over to the felled beast, pulling its large green head into her lap. She can hear Maui thunder his way over, and he drops to his knees beside her.

 

“Are you alright?” he demands, running his hands over her worriedly to check for injuries. Moana just curls over Kekoa, tears welling in her eyes.

 

“I’m fine,” she chokes out. “Kekoa saved me.”

 

The frog lets out a weak croak, and Moana feels the tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Kekoa,” she whispers, petting his forehead softly. He presses his head into her palm, always happy for a scratch no matter the circumstances.

 

“Such a good froggie,” Moana says with a watery laugh.

 

In that moment, Tamatoa wakes, lifting his giant head. “Where am I?” he asks, eyes clear for the first time. “What happened to my home? What am I  _wearing?!”_

 

The shock of the ugliness of his current state proves too much, and Tamatoa promptly passes out again.

 

Maui lays a gentle hand on Kekoa’s flank, his face solemn. “You protected someone very important to me,” he murmurs, eyes downcast. “Thank you, my friend.”

 

Kekoa croaks again, even weaker this time, but it’s a happy noise. The brave frog-beast takes a final, shuddery inhale, before releasing a deep sigh as all three of his eyes fall shut.

 

They bury Kekoa underneath the purple plant where they had first met him.

 

Moana had a few pets growing up; a pig before Pua named Pololi, and female chicken before Hei-Hei named Kawowo. They’d been fully grown animals by the time she was born, and she remembers the day each of them passed away. Moana can recall asking Gramma Tala what happened to animals after they die, and the older woman had smiled sadly at her. _“I should think they come back as a spirit, to watch over us,”_ she had said. Moana wonders if that’s true.

 

She reaches over to take Maui’s hand, desperately needing the contact. His skin is warm.

 

“We should go,” she says, voice quiet. “We have work to do.”

 

They turn to leave, but a bright flash of light behind them has them spinning back around. And lo and behold, above Kekoa’s burial place sits a teeny frog spirit, blinking at them curiously. “Kekoa!” Moana cries, reaching for the small creature. It hops into in her hand, and lets out the tiniest, most cheerful croak.

 

Tears well in Moana’s eyes again, but not from sadness. She gently touches her forehead to the little spirit’s in a final  _hongi_. “Tell Gramma I said hello, okay?”

 

Kekoa chirps as Moana leans back, before making a mighty leap into the ocean above Lalotai and vanishing. Moana wipes the tears from her eyes as she watches his shimmering trail dissipate, her heart a little more at peace. This time, Maui is the one to take her hand.

 

He smiles at her. “Let’s go save the world.”

 

 

**TBC**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I KNOW I KILLED THE FROG I'M SORRY
> 
> Sadly, as is the way of Disney, somebody has to die. But Kekoa lives on in Moana's heart (and as a little spirit froggie!) And who knows, maybe we'll see him again. The world works in mysterious ways, my dear readers...
> 
> Pololi: “hunger” in Hawai’ian
> 
> Kawowo: “seedling” in Hawai’ian


	5. Coconuts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you guys so much for all of the kind words. Knowing my work is really reaching people keeps me going. 
> 
> As for this chapter...
> 
> long(ish?) and lots of serious stuff with a little goofiness at the end to lighten the mood. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Edited note: this is the last of the revamped chapters, and normal chapter updates will begin again shortly!

 

The first thing that Moana notices when they’re back aboard her canoe is that she’s  _starving_.

 

She devours three bananas before even coming up for air, sighing in contentment as some of the gnawing hunger in her belly is abated. Her neck prickles with the feeling of being watched, and Moana twists around to see Maui gazing at her from his spot at the stern with amusement on his face.

 

“What?” she asks defensively, tossing the banana peel into the ocean.

 

Maui shrugs. “Nothin’,” he says, still looking far too entertained, and doesn’t elaborate.

 

“Whatever,” Moana mutters, turning to assess the hull storage. They’re running low on food, she notices, tapping her chin. Fishing is always an option, though  _poké_  had never been one of Moana’s favorite dishes. She prefers her fish roasted in an _imu_. The thought brings her to imagining her favorite dish; fresh _mukau_ fish roasted with taro root, followed by some _palusami…_ her stomach growls at the thought, even with three bananas in it.

 

“Hey Maui, you can use that fishhook to, you know,  _fish_  right?” she asks, closing the hull and hoping she’s not drooling.

 

“Sure,” he says easily, “if you wanna eat gigantic fish monsters from the deepest crevices of the sea.”

 

And just like that, Moana’s dreams of roasted fish evaporate. She crosses her arms, snorting. “Knew it was useless.”

 

Maui adjusts the steering, and Moana automatically reaches to tighten the halliard. The easy teamwork they had on that adventure ten years ago has come back so readily, and she smiles. It feels good to sail with Maui again. “Don’t worry about it,” Maui counters. “I know a place we can stop by and stock up.”

 

Well, that’s not entirely promising. As appealing as it sounds, Moana isn’t sure they can spare the time, given the urgency Tangaroa had expressed. “We’re not exactly on a pleasure cruise, Maui,” Moana tells him, clambering up the mast to scout. The sun is sinking quickly behind the horizon, and soon night would fall. She can see the star Rehua just beginning to glimmer in the darkening sky.

 

“It’s on the way,” Maui says from below her, his voice all easy confidence.

 

She glances at him, taking the moment to observe the demigod. Her eyes are drawn to his competent hands as they expertly control the canoe, and then to the ripple of the muscles in his strong shoulders. Abruptly she recalls the kiss and nearly slips off of the mast, face aflame.

 

It’s gonna be a long night.

 

Moana spends the next few hours recalling the name of every villager she can remember, starting with children and working her way up through the elders. It’s tortuous, and the memories of each of their smiling faces is like a stab in the heart. But she refuses to forget the people who had trusted her to lead them, who ventured into the sea simply because they believed in her. And so she does it again, and again, and again.

 

She allows herself to stop after fifty rounds, her chest too tight to continue. For now, she lets the wind and the crash of the waves ease her heart. The open sea is like a soothing balm, and she can feel her muscles slowly unwind.

 

Hours pass in this comfortable silence, but finally Moana’s boredom and curiosity get the best of her. “Maui, where have you been for the last ten years?” she asks tentatively, using her oar to adjust their course. They had switched spots an hour or so ago, and it felt good to be sailing again.

 

There’s a long pause, and Moana is beginning to wonder if he’ll answer when he says, “Honestly, it’s…hard to say, exactly. I sailed for a while, fought a couple of monsters. It barely felt like any time had passed at all.”

 

Moana stays quiet, reluctant to interrupt. The memory of her own lapse in time causes her heart to clench, and her eyes burn again at the thought of her island and her people.

 

“I might have pulled a few new islands out of the sea, too,” he allows, voice regaining some of its usual bravado. “Figured your people could go find them.”

 

Moana can’t help a watery grin at the admonition. For so long she had been sure that Maui had forgotten about her, forgotten her people…to know he had been snaring new islands just for them…it simultaneously breaks her heart and warms it. She feels her determination to sway Tāwhirimātea light anew at the confession.

 

Moana fastens the oar, briefly abandoning her post to pick her way over to where Maui sits with his back to her. She wraps her arms around him, her face pressed into his soft curls. “Thank you,” Moana whispers, leaning over his shoulder to press a delicate kiss to his cheek. She feels rather than sees his mouth tug into a smile.

 

She holds him for another moment, before the brief spark of boldness runs out and she quickly scuttles back to the stern to keep sailing. She looks up from the ropes to see Maui climb up the mast, leaning into the wind. The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon, and Moana realizes the night had gone by without her noticing. Is this what it means to be a demigod? Life passing by without a whisper?

 

“ _Fa’auta!_  There it is!” Maui suddenly shouts with glee, pointing to a tiny silhouette on the horizon.

 

Moana squints, unable to make out any details on the distant landmass. “What is it?”

 

“That would be Moku Niu,” he declares, jumping down from the mast.

 

“Moku Niu…?” Moana parrots, trying to get a better look at the islet. “We’re going to a place called ‘Coconut Island?’”

 

“Yup,” the demigod confirms. “It lives up to its name.”

 

Moana looks at Maui, trying to understand the ambiguous comment. “It’s full of coconuts?” she asks, feeling uninformed.

 

“Mm, and a few other things.”

 

The noncommittal reply sends up a red flag. “Maui,” she warns, “what else is on that island?” Maui’s caginess had gotten them into trouble before, and Moana is _not_ in the mood for that right now.

 

He shrugs, clearly entertained by her ire. “Nothing we can’t handle. Besides, you can practice using your oar! Perfect, right?”

 

“Maui…”

 

“We’ll be  _fine,”_  he insists, flexing his distractingly impressive biceps. “I’m here. And you…well, you can always fling a puddle at anything that attacks us.”

 

With a glare and a swipe of said oar, Moana knocks Maui off of the canoe with a jet of water. “My Ali’ikai is better than your dumb fishhook, anyway,” she says, looking down her nose at him. To be honest she wasn’t sure if the gimmick would work, but he doesn’t need to know that.

 

“You named the thing?” Maui asks, laughing as he hauls himself back onto the boat. He shakes out his wet hair before running a hand through the thick locks. Moana tries not to stare at the water trickling down his chest.

 

“What, like you didn’t name yours?” she asks, crossing her arms.

 

“No, I didn’t, because I’m not lame,” he retorts, holding the hook with both hands. “Besides, no name is great enough for something so powerful,” he decrees, though his tone is playful. He gives the hook a reverent smooch, which is only a little pathetic.

 

Moana rolls her eyes. “Ugh. How we don’t sink under your huge ego is beyond me.”

 

“Ali’ikai, was it? ‘King of the sea?’ And  _my_  ego is the big one?” Maui responds, brow raised.

 

“ _Queen_  of the sea,” Moana corrects loftily, sending another orb of seawater to splash over Maui’s head. She’s about to do it again when she realizes with a start that Moku Niu is now very close. “Maui, look,” she points over his shoulder at the nearing island.

 

“We’re here!” he crows, and promptly shifts into a hawk. “I’ll keep an eye out from above,” he tells her, and takes off into the sky.

 

Moana watches as he soars high above, a smile coming to her lips despite her annoyance at his ambiguous words. These adventures really do suit his personality, she muses. Focusing at the task at hand, she loosens the sheet to slow their approach. The island  _looks_  harmless enough. It’s fairly small, with a few mid-sized mountains and, as its namesake promises, a lot of coconut trees.

 

However, some peculiar things catch her eye, and she stands to peer closer as her canoe nears the shore. The trees appear to contain hundreds of small houses, strung up high with multitudes of ladders, bridges, and ropes strung between them. The design of the tree-village is slapdash, and kind of garish with the embellishment of huge tusks, drums, feathers, and carvings. Moana’s head tips to the side as she observes the little dwellings. They look awfully familiar…

 

A memory sparks, and Moana’s jaw drops. “Maui!”

 

Hawk-Maui lets out a mirthful screech, swooping down to hover next to the canoe. The gusts from his wings blow Moana’s hair into her face, and she spits out a strand, waving Ali’ikai at the bird furiously.

 

“You brought us to the island of the _Kakamora?!”_ she demands, and has half a mind to drown the cocky demigod. The seawater around the canoe churns with her aggravation, splashing onto the deck.

 

“No,” he denies, flying a little higher. “I brought you to Moku Niu, which just happens to be where the Kakamora live. Big difference!”

 

Moana tries to hit him with Ali’ikai but he dodges gracefully, and smacks her in the behind with a wing as he glides by. “ _Maui!”_ she shrieks, face on fire. She has no time to ponder the somewhat crude display of affection, as her canoe jerks to a halt at the shore and nearly throws her off.

 

Clutching Ali’ikai tightly, Moana leaps off the hull and onto the beach, her gaze locked on the tree-village. She waits, expecting a riotous encounter like the last time…but nothing happens. Moana takes a few tentative steps forward, and then waits once more.

 

Still nothing.

 

A moment later, Maui lands with a splash into the shallow water, having transformed back into a human. Before he can say a word, something rustles within the depths of the tall coconut trees. Moana and Maui tense, preparing themselves for a fight. To their surprise, however, the movement belongs to a single Kakamora, who slides down a ladder and drops to the ground. It trots over to them on tiny legs, coming to stand before the duo.

 

Moana peers at the little creature, flummoxed. It has no weapons or war paint, and doesn’t move to attack them. Instead, gestures for them to follow, before turning away and heading back to the village.

 

“Did  _not_  see that coming,” Maui states, eyes wide as he watches the coconut-clad imp moves away from them.

 

“What should we do?” Moana asks, glancing between the shrinking form of the Kakamora and her canoe. She’s so curious it _hurts_ , but she’s also acutely aware of the gravity of the task at hand. If the world ended because Moana got caught up chasing a coconut around, she’d never forgive herself.

 

Maui shrugs. “Up to you, curly.”

 

The little Kakamora has paused now, watching them. Or Moana assumes it is, she can’t actually see its eyes underneath the coconut armor. Making up her mind, Moana grabs her canoe by the bow and pulls it more firmly ashore. Maui, being the showoff he is, proceeds to pick up the entire thing and deposit it further up the beach.

 

Moana huffs, blowing a tendril of hair out of her face. “So when does that kick in? The super strength?”

 

Maui barks a laugh at that, patting Moana on the head condescendingly and getting sand in her hair. She swats him away and starts after the Kakamora--and for the record, she is  _not_  stomping, thank you very much. Chiefs do not stomp.

 

The Kakamora leads them into the village, and when Moana looks closely at the tree houses above, she can shadows flitting amongst them. It’s terribly quiet, though, and upon closer inspection, many of the little dwellings seem abandoned. Her gut tightens at the implication.

 

Finally, they are led to a much larger tree house, crafted between several coconut trees and covered from top to bottom in bones, teeth, and other decorative features. Moana surmises it belongs to the leader of the Kakamora, and waits patiently as their guide scampers up a ladder and into the house. Soon enough, another Kakamora emerges, flanked by what appear to be guards. The newcomer moves slowly down the ladder, and pulls out a tiny cane when it reaches the ground.

 

Moana can’t help but smile at the small, elderly imp. It makes its way slowly over to her, its coconut armor graying and sprinkled with cracks and patches made of leaves and mud. It then beckons for her and Maui to follow, and begins tottering away from the village. Sharing a confused glance, the duo trails after it. The journey is slow due to the elderly Kakamora’s short legs, but Moana doesn’t want to be rude and says nothing. They trek up one of the small mountains on the island, eventually coming to a cliff on the leeward side. The elder Kakamora gestures with his cane for them to look over the edge.

 

“Oh!” Moana gasps as she gazes at the cove below. There, the Kakamora ships are docked, bobbing in the blue water.

 

The vessels are nothing but husks. What isn’t scorched black is full of tremendous gouges, as if ripped apart by a great beast. Moana’s stomach drops as she observes the wreckage, trying to fathom what could have caused such ruin.

 

“What happened?” Maui asks for her, and gently pulls Moana away from the cliff.

 

The Kakamora says nothing, and Moana wonders if the little creatures speak at all, though it’s clearly able to understand them. It turns and begins heading back to the village, and Moana can do nothing but go along.

 

The Kakamora leads them back to his dwelling, and beckons for Moana to follow him up the ladder. “Moana…” Maui murmurs warily, clearly still suspicious of the little pirates.

 

Moana turns to the demigod, laying a placating hand on his broad chest. “I’ll be fine,” she assures him. “I’ll have Ali’ikai with me, and you have my permission to rage out if anything happens, okay?” She winks.

 

The look Maui gives her is mightily unimpressed, but he steps back so she can scramble up the small ladder anyway.

 

The elder Kakamora’s dwelling is actually quite sizeable when she reaches it, though she does have to crawl through the entrance. She settles, cross-legged, before the imp. He signals his guards, and they bring forward a series of scrolls, similar to the ones Gramma Tala used to employ for her dramatic story-tellings.

 

Moana’s jaw drops as the scrolls are laid out in front of her. There are four, each more terrifying than the last. The first depicts a dark, menacing ship and what she guesses is one of the Kakamora’s vessels. In the next, the Kakamora’s ship is being torn to shreds by black orbs that appear to be fired from the hull of the other vessel. Then, the Kakamora’s ship, burning. The final scroll depicts the strange, wicked ship and its occupants. They appear human-like, but with pale skin and even paler eyes, which glitter with malice even in the simplistic illustration.

 

These must be the pale beings that Tangaroa had spoken about, she realizes. She looks again at the second scroll, heart clenching at the sight of such destructive power. The black orbs seem familiar, somehow, and Moana realizes abruptly where she has seen them before. Lodged into Tamatoa’s shell and poisoning him into insanity. Cold horror creeps up her spine at the thought of these things finding her island.

 

The elder Kakamora approaches Moana, picking up her hand in both its own. She stares into the coconut armor, catching a glimpse of the gleaming eyes that lay beneath. The look is imploring, terrified, and desperate, and Moana forces herself to nod. “I will try to stop them,” she promises shakily.

 

The imp stares at her a moment longer, shrouded gaze beseeching, before it nods.

 

Maui is waiting for her at the foot of the coconut tree when she exits, and he plucks her from the ladder before she’s even halfway down. “So?” he asks, crossing his arms after he sets her onto the grass.

 

Moana glances at him, still shaken. “I’ll tell you back on the canoe,” she decides. Maui looks at her, gaze searching, but evidently decides not to push the matter and nods.

 

Before they leave, the pair of demigods is given a bounty of supplies. Baskets of fruit, dried fish, coconuts, and pork jerky are dropped at their feet by a small army of Kakamora. Moana carefully stores it in the hull, and waves to the crowd of imps as the canoe leaves shore. “So, what did the coconut tell you?” Maui asks from his spot at the stern, dipping a hand in the water to assess the currents.

 

Moana grimaces, reluctant to relive the horrors so soon. “One second,” she requests, digging into the new supplies for a rather choice looking banana she had seen earlier. Instead, she pulls out what appears to be a waterskin, decorated with little images of Kakamora. Shrugging, she pops it open, but stops when the smell hits her—pungent and fruity, with a tang she can’t quite place.

 

She must be looking at the waterskin funnily, because Maui asks, “What’s your problem?”

 

“They gave us juice,” she says, bringing the skin to her lips for a taste. The juice is sweet and musky, with a pleasant burn that has her taking another mouthful. She’s never had anything quite like it. “It’s good!”

 

Maui looks profoundly disinterested. “Sure. Now, back the coconut?”

 

With a sigh, Moana begins recounting what the elder Kakamora had shown her, taking gulps of the juice intermittently. She’s trying to explain the connection of the black orbs to Tamatoa, but her head feels funny and stringing sentences together is becoming increasingly difficult. She goes for another mouthful of the tasty juice, but finds the waterskin empty.

 

“Aww,” she moans in disappointment, waving the skin around from her spot on her back. “Anyway, Tamatoa’s…backpack. Back-thing Shell! His shell, it had one of those…those funny black balls stuck in it,” she slurs. “Haha, balls,” she snickers at the crude word, rolling onto her side to face Maui.

 

He’s staring at her, looking very confused and slightly worried, when he snatches the waterskin from her limp hand. He sniffs it, brows shooting up in surprise. “ _Aue!_ You’re  _drunk_!”

 

Moana sits up, her head lolling. “I am  _not_ ,” she denies haughtily. She points a finger at him, arm wavering. “You are!”

 

Maui blinks at her, before bursting into raucous laughter. “You’re  _toasted!_ ” he crows with glee, tossing the waterskin back to her. Moana, now stripped of most of her motor function, struggles to catch the skin and fumbles with it for nearly ten seconds before dropping it.

 

“Hmph! You’re mean,” she declares. “And handsome. But more mean than handsome,” she revises, her mental filter clearly having gone and died somewhere. Part of Moana’s brain tells her _you are going to regret this tomorrow_ but she can’t for the life of her figure out why. She just feels warm and good and warm. Did she say warm?

 

He blinks at her, mouth gaping, and…is that a blush?

 

Moana then realizes something else. “And I’m itchy!” She tries to scratch at her upper back, but cannot reach the offending itch. She turns in an attempt to take it by surprise and catch it, and does this three times before the stupidity of the action occurs to her.

 

Maui has been cackling at her antics the entire time, before he stops abruptly. “Moana, hold still,” he says, voice unexpectedly serious.

 

 

“What? What is it?” Moana slurs, freezing with her back turned to him. What’s going on? Are they in danger? Suddenly Maui is close, so close, and in this state his proximity is nearly overwhelming.

 

He sweeps her hair away from her back, exposing her shoulder blades. The action startles Moana, and she almost squeaks at the sensation of his warm hand brushing her skin. “Maui, what is it?”

 

“A tattoo,” he answers, voice uncharacteristically quiet.

 

Moana cranes her head around as much as she can, and is able to catch a glimpse of the newly ink-stained skin. “I can’t see it,” she says, nearly falling over in her attempt to do so. “Describe it to me.”

 

She can feel his huge hand brush a stray lock of hair away from her shoulders, and a shiver runs down her spine. “There are two,” he tells her. “You as a baby, with the ocean, and Te Fiti holding you in her hand after she was restored.” He lets the hair fall back into place.

 

“ _Finally,”_ Moana huffs, even though she had literally never even considered the prospect of magical tattoos before this exact moment. “Maybe now I’ll get the super strength,” she slurs, clenching her fist in victory. “Gonna be the most kickass demigoddess _ever.”_

 

Maui just laughs.

 

The same itchy sensation suddenly appears on both Moana’s wrists and ankles, and she looks down at the appendages blearily. Black ink swirls into existence on her skin, settling into decorative cuffs similar to Maui’s. Her shoulder itches too, and she scratches at it absently, transfixed by the magical tattoos on her limbs.

 

“Moana,” Maui says gently. “You’re going to want to look at that one.”

 

Moana turns her head (which is now spinning) to look at the new addition, and gasps. Her shoulder is now adorned with a manta ray, identical to the one Gramma Tala had. “Oh…” she chokes out, suddenly overcome by what was happening. It had been some time since Moana had encountered Tala on the ocean, and that combined the sudden appearance of her likeness and the events of the day is too much.

 

“Moana…”

 

Moana looks at Maui, whose mouth is pulled into a sympathetic frown. She can’t help but lean into him, drawn by his warm strength, and he envelopes her in his arms obligingly. Moana’s eyes remain dry, but she has to take a few shuddery breaths to regain her composure.

 

Moana’s traitorous brain, soaked in booze and lacking all discretion, then decides to have her mutter “you smell good,” into his chest.

 

She can feel him shake with silent laughter, and Moana presses her cheek to his skin. His heartbeat thuds under her ear, steady and strong.

 

She falls asleep to the rhythmic  _thump, thump, thump._

  

 

**TBC**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I had to throw in ye old accidentally drunk trope. It called to me ;) Also, badass tats! 
> 
> Reviews are always appreciated!
> 
> Also:
> 
> Ali’ikai: traditional Hawai’ian name, meaning king/queen of the sea
> 
> Fa’auta: Samoan interjection; “Behold!”
> 
> Aue: interjection used in Polynesia to express an emotional reaction (sorrow, surprise, or affection)


	6. A’ale Ma’a Wau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW 3000+ HITS AND 300+ KUDOS YOU ARE ALL TOO KIND SERIOUSLY. Thanks for all the lovely reviews, you guys have great comments and I adore the predictions and reactions. 
> 
> As for this chapter...
> 
> It's a filler! No, really. Quite a few people asked for a bit in Maui's perspective, and while I didn't want the plotty-story to be told by him (it's the legend of Moana, after all) I figured I could do a little mini, non-plot-furthering chapter from his view to 1. satiate you all and 2. give a peek into his psyche.
> 
> To be clear, this chapter is totally skippable plot-wise. If the Moana/Maui aspect of this story isn't really your jam, I'd probably pass on it, because it's mostly Maui just being full of feelings lmao.
> 
> We'll be back to our regular plotty plot plot chapters next time. For now, enjoy some feely goodness.

 

The silence that had fallen over the canoe is broken by Moana’s soft snores, and Maui can’t help but chuckle at the rather undelicate noise. The unladylike trait suits her, he thinks fondly. It’s hard to find a single word that describes the little demigoddess in his arms, infinitely intriguing as she is.

 

Maui allows himself another moment to just hold her, though he tells himself he doesn’t know why.

 

But he does.

 

How could anyone not be completely transfixed by the kind-hearted fireball that is Moana Waialiki? She’s every bit as infuriating at she is enchanting, and you can bet flowery words like that aren’t typically in a tough guy like Maui’s preferred repertoire.

 

Maui gently lays Moana onto the hull of the canoe, wishing he had at least a blanket to put under her head. Demigod or not, sleeping on hardwood sucked. He brushes a lock of hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear, chuckling at the snorting sound she makes in response. Whatever had been in that waterskin had knocked her out good.

 

The memory of Moana calling him handsome (though admittedly in the same breath as ‘mean’) appears in his mind, unbidden, and he can’t help the dopey grin that forms.

 

It’s honestly difficult to reconcile this beautiful, powerful woman with the curly-headed kid he had known ten years ago, but at the same time, how could anyone mistake them otherwise? The same scrappy spirit that had simply amused Maui a decade ago now charms him in an entirely different way. Never in the time he had spent sailing to Te Fiti, nor in their years apart, would he ever have imagined growing such strong feelings towards her.

 

And boy, isn’t that a word— _feelings._

 

Maui’s heart clenches at the thought of the decade that had passed without his notice. Forget demigod, what kind of friend was he that he could let so much time go by without even a flicker of awareness? Maui suspects he knows exactly how she felt; denial, anger, sorrow, acceptance. Everything he felt as a thousand crawled by on that rotten pile of rocks he was marooned on for so long.

 

As the gods had forgotten him, he had forgotten Moana.

 

Maui gazes at her peacefully sleeping face (feeling like a creep, for the record), his compulsion to protect the young demigoddess rising anew. He can’t make up for the ten years he had missed, but maybe he can redeem himself by fighting at her side in this new voyage.

 

He will not abandon Moana this time. _Never again_.

 

Maui can’t help but grimace, grip flexing on the fishhook in his hands as recalls the time he had done exactly that. Ego and fishhook crippled alike, he had flown away with barely a look at the girl calling out after him. He can remember with painful clarity the way her voice had broken on his name.

 

Maui had flown for hours that night, mostly in circles. When he got sick of flying, he’d shift into a shark and do a couple of laps. He couldn’t bring himself to go far, nor could he muster the courage to go back. Dawn came, and there he remained, torn by his desire to protect her and his instincts to protect himself.

 

Maui can remember the shiver that rolled over the ocean as Te Ka was awoken for the second time, and can recall the exact heart-stopping moment he realized what was happening. _She wouldn’t_ , he had told himself, even though the evidence said _uh, she did, buddy._

 

Rational thought evacuated his mind, and all he could think about was getting back to Te Fiti and that damned canoe as quickly as he could. The hawk shift was his favorite, but it wasn’t his fastest, and so he had quickly morphed into a black marlin, diving into the water. He cut through the ocean, lancing through waves so he could keep an eye on his target. A red glow in the distance told him Te Ka was not only awake but _angry_ , and he swam faster.

 

The rest was history.

 

And now, that same brave mortal is a demigoddess, quickly gaining all sorts of powers and abilities—and yet stays just as compassionate as her human days. Crying over a frog, vowing to protect the Kakamora of all creatures, sailing straight towards incredible danger in order to save the world…she’s better at this stuff than he, Maui realizes with a snort.

 

He can’t help but wonder what she’ll do after this whole mess, assuming they get out of it alive. Maui had no ties to the mortal world after his parents threw him into the sea, and could happily watch the decades spin by without a care. Moana, on the other hand…she has her parents. Her entire _island_ is waiting for her, probably hoping for her miraculous return.

 

The memories Maui has of Moana’s village and her people are fond, full of warmth, music, food, and dancing. The short time he had spent with them was practically bliss, and that is precisely why he had to leave. He hadn’t wanted to get too attached, knowing how short mortal lives are.

 

The thought seems hilarious now.

 

As for Moana, Maui can easily imagine her renouncing her immortality and returning to her human life, and his heart clenches treacherously at the thought. He wouldn’t blame her; he knows firsthand how wonderful her island is. Of _course_ Maui would support her, whatever she chooses, because her happiness is the only thing that matters. But that doesn’t ease the ache in his chest. He doesn’t want to be alone again…he doesn’t want to be without _her_ again.

 

That dark train of thought is halted when Moana suddenly mumbles, “mmph, the sun…is a giant coconut,” and almost rolls off the canoe, were it not for Maui catching her.

 

“ _Aue_ ,” Maui grumbles, fondness tingling warm in his chest. “Even asleep you’re a handful. Guess I should’ve expected that.” In response, Moana drools a little and curls up into a compact ball, hair falling over her face like a blanket. The sun is beginning to set, and the orange light glows warmly on her skin and the surface of the ocean.

 

Maui takes a moment to enjoy the quiet, letting the sound of the winds and waves roll over him. There’s a nagging feeling in his gut that tells him it’s the last peaceful moment he’s going to get for a while.

 

Maui had met Tangaroa in the past (and yes, the fishhook occurs to him as an ironic gift too), as well as the eldest Tāne, but has yet to personally encounter the reclusive middle brother. Maui frowns as he adjusts the course, uneasiness growing. Tales of Tāwhirimātea usually involve violence and death, so he isn’t exactly expecting a polite chat over _kawakawa_ tea.

 

His gaze is drawn once again to the form of Moana sleeping on the deck. She’s moved again, now sprawled out like a starfish, and snoring even more loudly. “The moon…also a coconut,” she mutters, her brow scrunching as if in concentration.

 

Maui can’t help but laugh quietly, shaking his head at the sleeping woman. Oddly rejuvenated by her antics, he tightens the sheet and increases the canoe’s speed, staring into the darkening horizon.

 

With the glimmer of Rehua lighting their path, Maui sails them towards the unknown.

 

 

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, a little Maui introspection/character study. Short, but sweet, I hope. I have the next chapter just about finished, and I'm also working on the third-to-last chapter, which is where all the plotlines come together. It's a doozy.
> 
> Reviews are always loved!
> 
> Edited note: I've had a few people request, er, steamier stuff between the pair and I'm gonna tell you now that's not gonna happen. The romance in this is going to be 100% Disney-style, AKA longing looks and hearts-a-flutter over things like holding hands. I want to focus more on the mythos/story, so I shall leave that to more daring authors haha.
> 
> Also:  
> A’ale Ma’a Wau: fish out of water  
> kawakawa: a plant used by the Māori people to make tea, for both medicinal and tasty purposes


	7. Sails to Tāwhirimātea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: thank you all so much for the lovely reviews. I know I don't respond to many, but I need you all to know how much each and every single one mean to me. You guys are the best.
> 
> Second: PLEASE NOTE I did indeed revamp chapters 1-5. I added about 800-1000 words each, expanding on details and adding a leading dialogue here and there. A re-read is not necessary for plot, but if you want to check out the new stuff, please give it a look :)
> 
> Third: long chapter ahoy! Please enjoy :)

 

Night has fallen by the time Moana wakes, but she barely has a chance to admire the stars’ twinkling before she rolls over to the edge of the canoe and vomits. There’s a dull ache right behind her eyes, and she throws an arm over them as she flops onto her back.

 

“How’s your head, princess?” Maui asks from somewhere else on the canoe.

 

“I’ll vomit on you,” Moana threatens weakly, though the effort required would probably be too much. “What was that stuff?”

 

“ _Okolehao_ ,” Maui tells her as she sits up. “A lot of it. Funny, I remember you actually saying rather nice things about me…what was the word you used? Oh yes, _handsome._ ” Maui preens, flexing a bicep.

 

Moana’s face burns bright red as the memory surfaces, and she groans. Of _course_ Maui would never let that go. Her mother’s voice flashes in her head, advising a young Moana of the proclivities of overconfident young boys as they wove baskets of coconut leaves. “ _Give him a hand and he’ll take an arm,”_ Sina had warned. To be fair, the observation about Maui’s appearance wasn’t untrue—Moana seemed to catch herself staring at his jaw line more often than not, these days—but that didn’t mean he needed to know that!

 

“Oh yeah, and that I smell good,” Maui adds, leaning over Moana and giving her a winning smile. “Don’t worry, most people find me charming, so you’re not alone.” His voice is genuinely pleased. “By the way, you had a couple of pretty profound comments when you were asleep,” he tells her, though his voice suggests the observations were anything but.

 

Moana growls at him. “I really will puke on you,” she warns, and then tips over so she can heave over the edge of the canoe. Maui immediately crouches down next to her, holding her hair back. His hands are gentle when he helps her sit upright, and the warmth feels good on her skin. Thankfully, the nausea seems to abate with the emptying of her stomach, and she lets out a relieved sigh. Eventually, Maui is forced to leave her side in order to tend to the steering, but his concerned gaze stays on Moana all the while.

 

Moana’s stomach roils again, but ultimately settles, and she wobbles to her feet. “Why do people drink if it makes you feel this horrible?” she wonders, tying her hair into a bun.

 

“Well, most people don’t drink their weight’s worth in one sitting,” Maui says, standing from the stern. “Here, you take over. It’ll clear your head.”

 

Moana does as she’s told, though she secretly suspects Maui just wants a chance to stretch his legs. To his credit, the familiar routine of checking the current and adjusting the sail does soothe her senses, and quickly she forgets the discomfort even existed. The strong wind affords them a respectable pace, and it seems like the glow of Rehua grows with every passing hour.

 

Moana can’t help but ponder the encounter to come. What is Tāwhirimātea, god of storms and winds, even like? She can remember sitting on _t_ _apa_ mats as a young child, eagerly hanging on to ever word that came out of Gramma Tala’s mouth as she told them legends, including those of the storm god and his brothers. Tāwhirimātea was immensely powerful, only capable of being stopped by the fourth brother, Tūmatauenga, god of war and hunting. The storm god had many children, all winds and clouds of different kinds, including Apū-hau and Apū-matangi—fierce squalls and whirlwinds—to name a few. It was with that army of progeny that he unleashed attacks on the domains of his brothers, Tangaroa and Tāne. Overall, evidence points to him not being the most forgiving or easy-going of gods.

 

She can only imagine how happy Tāwhirimātea will be to welcome two demigods—one a trickster and the other a rookie—into his abode and listen to their appeals for the exoneration of humanity.

 

Feeling eyes on her, Moana looks up from where she’s adjusting the course with her oar. Maui’s gaze is thoughtful, and Moana realizes it’s trained on the paddle, not her. “You know, with your powers you could probably just push the canoe along and we wouldn’t need to sail at all,” he points out.

 

Moana looks down at the now magical tool, considering. “Yeah, I guess so,” she agrees, but the thought doesn’t sit right. “It would kinda feel like cheating though, wouldn’t it? Where’s the fun in that?” Power to control the sea or not, Moana loves wayfinding. The feeling of wind in her hair, the rhythm of loosening and tightening the sheet, reading the stars and the waves…no, ‘ _love’_ isn’t even enough to describe it—wayfinding is her lifeblood. It’s just who she is _._

 

Maui, for whatever reason, is grinning at her, looking proud. “This is why I like you,” he states, before climbing up the mast to scout.

 

Moana watches him, pondering the comment for a few moments before becoming distracted by the new markings on her wrists. She examines the tattoos, brushing a reverent hand over the manta ray on her shoulder. Her chest tightens at the memory of Gramma Tala even now, and she’s grateful for the new connection. She draws a finger over the lines and swirls, wondering if they will come alive on her skin like Maui’s. As if cued, a strange sensation tickles her shoulder blades, and the demigoddess looks down in time to see a small, minimalistic Moana clamber her way over the skin of her shoulder. “Oh, hello there,” she greets the little tattoo, feeling rather like a fish out of water.

 

Mini Moana waves at her, a smile on her inky face. She then proceeds to climb over to Gramma Tala’s manta ray, and the two small figures share a hug before Moana’s miniature likeness disappears onto her back.

 

“That was weird,” she says to herself, feeling daunted by her new status all over again. It was one thing to have tattoos magically appear, and another entirely for them to be _living beings._ “Why’d they show up now, not at the temple?” she wonders, turning her wrists to admire the intricate tattoo cuffs. Aspects of her island life are incorporated into the markings…waves, leaves, coconut trees, fire. Her heart aches for her homeland.

 

“Personally, at this point I’ve stopped trying to understand the way it all works,” Maui tells her, gesturing in a general upwards direction to indicate higher powers. “As for the tattoos, they have a mind of their own,” he adds, squinting at something on the horizon. The sun is just beginning to rise, throwing golden light upon the sea. Abruptly he tenses, his face darkening. “Moana, anchor the boat. Don’t move.” A flash of blue light, and she’s left staring at his feathered behind as it flies away.

 

“ _Maui!”_ Hackles risen at the ominous instruction, Moana shakes her fist at his shrinking form. “You can’t just say that and fly off!” she shouts pointlessly after him. “And for the record, we _don’t have an anchor!”_

 

Grumbling, Moana violently tightens the halliard in direct defiance to his order, speeding up the canoe. “Big dumb arrogant _jerk!_ You’re not the only demigod around here anymore!” Gone are the days that Maui gets to throw his weight around like he’s in charge. Moana is a chief _and_ a demigoddess, so if anything she has a higher authority in this situation. With that in mind, she uses Ali’ikai to give the canoe a burst of momentum, jetting over the surface of the water.

 

She can see Maui’s winged form in the distance pause, before turning around and flying back towards her. She doesn’t slow the canoe, even as his form grows larger. If he wants to get back on the boat, he’s going to have to manage that himself.

 

The loud cry of a hawk in the only warning Moana gets before Maui, human again, lands forcefully on the canoe, and nearly upends it with his impressive weight. His expression is stormy. “What are you doing?! I told you to stay put!” he scolds, pointing over her shoulder.

 

Moana bristles, immediately reminded of their fight a decade ago. Back then, maybe he had the right to criticize her actions, but not today. Moana Waialiki is a master wayfinder, a chief, and a demigod, and she’s been taking care of herself just fine for the last ten years without his overprotective meddling.

 

“And I’ve told _you_ I’m not a child anymore! I’m a demigod, just like you, Maui. I’m your _equal_ ,” she gets right in his face, the sea around them roiling with her indignation. “It’d be nice if you could act like it!”

 

Maui doesn’t back down. “Moana, you were mortal two days ago. I’ve been a demigod almost my entire life. Forgive me if I think I know a little more than you! I’m trying to _protect_ you!”

 

And _that_ , that right there is the crux of the issue. If they’re going to be a team, they need to work as equals. Moana is not the naive child she was a decade ago, and she will not be treated like it. “Are you saying I’m so weak I need protection?” Moana demands, clutching Ali’ikai. If Maui truly still sees her as…as a _kid_ , some brat that needs coddling, rather than as his partner in this mess, he is going to be set straight right now.

 

Maui lets out a noise or pure frustration. “No, of course not!” He runs a hand down his face, evidently searching for the right words. “Moana, you’re _incredible_. You’ve saved me more times than I can count. I’m just saying…let me _teach_ you a little before you run off and get yourself killed, okay?”

 

Moana deflates, most of the fight rushing out of her at his proclamation. “Maui, I-”

 

Her sentence is cut off, however, by the canoe being flung violently into the air by an unknown force. Moana hits the water with a crash, the wind knocked from her lungs. Thankfully, Ali’ikai is still in her grip, and she uses it to boost herself quickly to the surface.

 

A flash of blue light informs her that Maui is unharmed, and she can hear the familiar screech of a hawk. Heart racing, Moana whirls left and right in the water, trying to catch a glimpse of what had hit them.

 

Nothing. Other than the wake of her canoe, the ocean is relatively calm. Moana can see her boat several yard away, belly up. The vessel is capsized but doesn’t appear to be sinking, which hopefully speaks for its soundness.

 

“Maui!” she calls to the hawk circling above. “What was that?”

 

“Moana, get out of the water!” he swoops down towards her, but movement from below the surface captures her attention. A gigantic shadow is right underneath her and getting closer. A wave closes over Moana’s head, and cold fear seizes her heart as the shadow becomes clear. All she can see is _teeth._

 

Suddenly, pain blooms in her shoulders and she’s yanked from the water in the nick of time. The jaw of the great beast below her snaps shut where Moana had been not a moment before, sending up a huge splash. Maui’s talons are cutting into her skin as he lifts her away but she feels nothing but terrified gratitude towards the demigod.

 

“What _is_ that thing?” she asks, watching its massive dorsal fin disappear into the water.

 

“A taniwha,” Maui says grimly. “They’re guardians. Which means we’re close.”

 

Moana makes a decision. “Let me down,” she commands, wiggling in his grip.

 

“Did you drink the seawater or something? I’m not gonna let you be fish food for that thing!”

 

“You can’t fight him like this, and neither can I,” she points out, grip tightening on Ali’ikai. “Maui, do you trust me?”

 

“Of course I do, but-”

 

“Then trust me on _this.”_

 

There’s a beat, and she’s worried he’ll ignore her, but finally he sighs. “Fine, but I’m distracting him first!” Suddenly Moana is tossed upwards, and she can hear Maui transform and splash into the water below. She quickly drops back to the ocean, but this time has her bearings when she breaks through the surface.

 

Underwater she can see Maui, now a shark, leading the taniwha on a chase. It’s _gigantic_ , though not nearly the size of Tangaroa, which is oddly comforting. The beast is varying shades of magnificent blues and teals, with three sets of pectoral flippers and a shark-like tail. Its huge, shimmering dorsal fin is most impressive, eclipsed in its distinction only by the creature’s deep-set mouth containing teeth bigger than any Moana has ever seen.

 

The taniwha is closing in on Maui, and Moana scrambles for an idea of how to subdue something so large underwater. An idea strikes her, and she quickly tests it out, holding the blade of Ali’ikai away from her. The inscriptions glow, and bubbles rise from the water surrounding the oar. It works!

 

“Hey, bottomfeeder!” she shouts, waving her oar to get the taniwha’s attention. “Over here!”

 

The taniwha halts, serpentine body coiling as it turns its attentions on Moana. It wastes no time in launching towards her, all six flippers propelling it with alarming speed. Moana waits until the last possible second before she evades, swinging Ali’ikai with all her might.

 

“Take _that!”_ she bellows, hurling the current of boiling water at the beast. The blast of bubbles obscures her vision and boy is that water _hot_ but she can hear the taniwha’s cry of pain and counts it as a victory. Once the bubbles clear she can see the creature circling several lengths below, and it appears to be favoring its left set of fins.

 

Moana allows herself a little fistpump, proud of her new oar skill. However, she realizes the technique will only work as a stalling tactic, because scary sea beast or not, she’s not boiling anything alive today. She needs to get it out of the water, she realizes. The revelation comes with good timing too, because the taniwha has apparently recovered from its injuries and is once again swimming after Maui, having deemed him the weaker prey. It’s a bitter triumph.

 

She watches as Maui, now a black marlin, deftly outswims the taniwha, leaving a swirling trail of bubbles in his wake.

 

 _Swirling_ …

 

“That’s it!” Moana cries.

 

She swims to the surface, feeling _mana_ flood through her as Ali’ikai’s inscriptions ignite once more. She breaks through, and after a few moments of adjustment is able to stand, somewhat shakily, on the surface of the water.

 

“How’s that for godly?” she smirks, and begins skating over the ocean in a large circle, dragging Ali’ikai in the water. She pumps her legs, gliding faster and faster until the water begins to form a whirlpool.

 

“Maui, bring him to me!” she orders, confident that the demigod will hear and obey. Surely enough, Maui erupts from the water, immediately shifting in a hawk. The taniwha appears not a moment after, its blue scales gleaming brilliantly in the dawn as it breaks the surface. Moana continues to soar over the ocean, the whirlpool’s strength growing with every loop she completes. The great sea beast attempts to follow Maui, jaws snapping, but the churning of the sea pulls him back in.

 

Unable to escape, the taniwha is sucked into the swirling current. Moana pulls him with her, circling again, and again, and again, until the beast’s howls fade into nauseated whines. His weakened state is perfect for…

 

“ _Maui_! Your hook!”

 

The demigod is already there, landing on the overturned canoe with his fishhook brandished. “Way ahead of ya, curly!”

 

He slings the magical hook into the vortex, catching the taniwha in its gaping mouth. The line goes taut, the creature thrashing weakly. With a mighty heave of Maui’s hook and a powerful sweep of Moana’s oar, together the two demigods cast the great beast into the sky.

 

The taniwha’s caterwauls grow fainter as it sails through the air, landing with a tremendous splash a very, very long ways away. “ _Cheehoo!”_ Moana whoops, leaping into the air. The distraction costs Moana her very literal sea legs, however, and she splashes back into the ocean.

 

Maui has already righted the canoe and is sailing over to her when Moana breaches. “Did you see that?” she demands, clambering onto the boat. “I created a whirlpool! I _walked_ on the _ocean_!”

 

“You better watch it,” Maui warns, his tone playful. “The second you start looking cooler than me out there, it’s over.”

 

Moana twirls Ali’ikai in her hands, eyeing him up and down (which is distracting, has she mentioned that?). “I could take you,” she declares. His brow rises at the challenge.

 

“Yeah, in a thousand years maybe. Hey, look!” Maui suddenly interjects, pointing to Moana’s chest. She looks down hurriedly, hoping she hasn’t slipped a nipple or something else equally mortifying.

 

Instead, she sees more ink begin materialize on her skin. The emerging image shows Mini Moana skating around the edge of a whirlpool, Ali’ikai in her tiny hands. The tattoo, settling into place over her pectoral and clavicle, gracefully connects to the manta ray on her shoulder, creating a larger, harmonious piece. “Whoa,” she whispers, spellbound by the magical ink.

 

Maui whistles appreciatively. “Man, you’re just rackin’ ‘em up, aren’t ya?”

 

Moana shrugs, grinning. Emboldened by the adrenaline, she steps up to him, close enough that his broad chest is a scant inch away from hers. This near she can see the tiniest flecks of gold in his brown irises.

 

“Don’t worry, Maui,” she smirks. “When this is all over I’ll be sure to teach you a trick or two.”

 

He doesn’t move away. “Oh, is that so?”

 

“Yup,” she sing-songs. “If you’re lucky, I’ll even sign your fishhook!” With a mischievous grin she leans up to kiss him on the cheek, missing his lips by a hair, before dashing back to the stern. When she looks up from adjusting the course (internally losing her mind over the audacious move), he has his back to her, tinkering with the sail like nothing happened. However, before disappointment can truly set in, his hand drifts up to where her lips had touched, and even from here she can see the tips of his ears burn red.

 

Moana hums under her breath, pleased at being able to fluster the other demigod so. To be fair, her own face is also aflame. An odd noise catches her attention, and she looks down to see the water boiling around Ali’ikai’s blade. She blushes even more when she realizes at once that the magic is a direct result of her emotions, and the boiling increases in fervor. “Get a grip,” she mutters to herself. “You have a world to save.”

 

The thought is immediately sobering, and to her surprise, the water around freezes solid. She peers at it curiously, having never seen such a thing. She lifts it from the ocean, inspecting the glittery substance that covers her oar like a blade. When she goes to touch it, the substance is astoundingly cold and slippery. “What is this stuff?” she wonders, turning the oar in her hands.

 

“Curly, are you gonna be steering any time soon or do I need to—yo! You can make ice now?” Maui asks, having turned back towards her.

 

“’Ice?’ Is that what this is?” Moana clarifies. She feels stupid, not knowing, but she has never seen water behave like this in her entire life.

 

“Oh yeah, I suppose you never would have seen that on your islands, huh?” Maui asks rhetorically, his tone thoughtful. “When water gets really cold—and I mean _cold—_ it hardens into ice.”

 

“Huh,” Moana hums contemplatively, storing that information. The ice sparkles magnificently where sunlight hits it, refracting glittery beams onto the wood of the canoe. Definitely useful.

 

Maui sighs dramatically. “Okay, let’s see: breathing underwater, giant whirlpools, and now you can make water boil _and_ freeze,” he ticks off on his fingers. “What _can’t_ you do?” His voice is impressed.

 

“You forgot walking on water,” Moana points out without much feeling, too focused on trying to get the ice to turn back into water. It obliges, sliding off the oar and splashing back into the ocean.

 

“My apologies, Moana, demigoddess of the sea, hero of…also the sea,” he jokes, bowing to her exaggeratedly.

 

“Hey!” Moana protests, kneeling down at the stern to fix any ropes that had been knocked loose thanks to the taniwha’s lovetap. “I am Moana, demigoddess of the waves and sea, hero to the _world_ ,” she corrects, chuckling at her own ridiculous title.

 

To her surprise, Maui doesn’t laugh. Instead, he gives her a small, proud smile. “Yeah, you really are,” he agrees. His eyes are full of admiration and…something else.

 

Moana pauses, wanting to respond, but before she can open her mouth he adds, “Although, ‘waves _and_ sea’ is kind of redundant, so you might wanna work on that.” He turns back to the sail, all calm confidence, but the fidgety way his hands move belie some of the other feelings beneath.

 

Moana blinks at him, before bursting into a surprised laugh. She shakes her head, smiling, and finishes fixing the ropes. “Men,” she mutters affectionately.

 

All too soon, the bright sky begins to darken with more and more dark clouds, which seem to be arising from a single point in the distance. Moana swallows, her skin tingling in anticipation as a dark landmass becomes visible on the horizon. Above it is a vortex of clouds and mist, sparking intermittently with lightning.

 

“Guess we’re in the right place,” Moana says, a little intimidated by the sight. “So, how do we do this? Just walk up and say ‘hey could you maybe consider _not_ destroying the world as we know it?’”

“Unless you’ve got a better plan, that’s pretty much what I was going to go with,” Maui responds. His voice is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of gravity. The memory of sailing to Te Fiti flits through Moana’s mind. She can acutely recall the fear and exhilaration that had raced through her veins as she watched Maui fly off to Te Ka, at the time unaware of the chaos to follow.

 

She can only hope they’ll both come out in one piece.

 

“Okay, but you have to promise to be on your best behavior,” Moana tells him, her adrenaline growing in tandem with the size of Tāwhirimātea’s island. The rumble of thunder grows louder with every passing minute.

 

“ _Me?”_ Maui snorts, incredulous. “If I remember right, you’re the one who grabbed a demigod by the ear and then proceeded to shout into it within five minutes of meeting him.”

 

Moana sticks her tongue out at the other demigod, grateful for the light conversation in the face of such potential calamity. Suddenly, an explosive crack of thunder sounds above their heads, stealing their attention. The wind is growing more intense, forcing Moana to ease the sheet to avoid being thrown around.

 

As they close in, Moana realizes the island is actually incredibly small and flat, more of a rocky islet than a true island. A god of winds and storms must not have much need for land, she muses.

 

Mist shrouds the islet, but from this distance Moana can make out huge, pointed rocks of varying heights surrounding the perimeter of the island, the apex boulder on the far side. It looks like a crown made of stone.

 

Moana inhales deeply as they approach, now a scant few canoe-lengths away from the rocky shore. Silence pervades, broken only by the crash of waves below and the rumble of thunder above.

 

Moana breathes out, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders.

 

She steps off the canoe.

 

 

**TBC**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you are interested in seeing what I had in mind for the taniwha's appearance, I posted a sketch on my tumblr (the url is dogomelette, you can find it under the tag 'my art') :)
> 
> As for the story...soon we shall see the god of storms himself...I wonder what he could be like?
> 
> For the record, the next chapter may take a few more days than normal. It's going to be even longer than this one, and I really want to make it spectacular. So, your patience will be greatly appreciated!
> 
> Okolehao: ancient Hawai’ian alcoholic drink, made from the root of the ti plant  
> Taniwha: (pronounced ‘tanifa in Māori mythology, either shark- or lizard-like beings that dwell in bodies of water  
> Cheehoo!: essentially, the Polynesian version of “yahoo/wahoo”


	8. Irredeemable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello! So, I know I said this was THE BIG ONE...well, I was wrong lol. I decided to split chapter 8 into two parts because it would simply be too long. So, here's chapter 8, and chapter 9 will be along...in a few days? Hopefully. Finals are next week though, so who knows. 
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely BadOctopus (who, by the way, has an excellent fic titled "Totally Worth It" and you all need to read it). 
> 
> As always, I adore your reviews. They're so kind and I love how enthusiastic you guys are. 
> 
> Cheers!

 

The stone is terribly cold underneath Moana’s feet, and a shiver runs up her body as she steps onto the shore. Maui follows right behind her, his presence a comfort. Moana peers around the small islet, and finds…well, pretty much nothing. Other than the ring of tall stones on the perimeter, the whole islet consists of mostly flat rock, speckled with smaller stones and the occasional, very hardy-looking plant.

 

“Hello…?” Moana calls, taking a few steps forward. The sun is completely blotted out by the thick storm clouds above, casting a gray light on everything below. The wind continues to blow, buffeting the stone and sending waves crashing against the rocks. The tall stone crown does protect the plateau beneath from the waves, for the most part, and it’s dryer than she expects. Still, not the most inviting of homes.

 

Suddenly, a massive bolt of lightning strikes the center of the islet, nearly knocking Moana off her feet with its resounding thunder. Her ears ring as the smoke clears, revealing the tall, dark form of…

_Tāwhirimātea!_

 

The god of winds and storms towers above them, tall as a palm tree, his eyes glowing from behind a mask of dark wood. The features of the mask are distinct and menacing, and covered in intricate swirling carvings, not unlike facial tattoos Moana has seen on her people. The rest of his body is nothing but a roiling mass of dark storm clouds, taking on a hulking, humanoid shape. He peers down at the pair of demigods, and Moana can feel his power in her bones.

 

“Ah…so my brother truly did send a pair of children to come beg me for mercy…” a voice echoes from behind the mask, lighter than Moana had expected. He makes no move to smite or welcome them, so Moana takes a few steps forward.

 

“Tāwhirimātea, god of winds and storms, I am Moana of Motunui. You _will_ listen to my plea, speak with your brother Tangaroa, and forsake your plan to destroy the world.” The declaration is completely false bravado, a façade of courage mustered from who knows where. Ali’ikai trembles in her grip where she has it pointed at the god.

 

Tāwhirimātea’s mask cocks to one side, glowing gaze locked on Moana. Suddenly it shifts downward, neck stretching and slithering like a snake, to be eye level with her. The sight is disturbing. “My, my…” the god purrs, the smoke of his body curling around Moana. “You _are_ insolent, aren’t you?”

 

Moana doesn’t bend. “Please Tāwhirimātea, listen to me. Listen to your brother. Think of all the people and animals…the life you’ll be destroying.”

 

Moana cannot even fathom the consequences of Tāwhirimātea’s intentions. Instant death? Endless, cramped darkness? Something _worse?_

 

Tāwhirimātea does not balk. “I will be freeing those animals from a life of enslavement from mortals…a rejoining of the earth and sky will be a mercy upon them, even if they do not know it. As for humans…disgusting _fleas_.” He spits, voice icy. “Filthy, greedy mongrels. They are… _irredeemable_.” The last word is uttered with such deep and menacing hatred that a shiver runs down Moana’s spine.

 

“But what about the good in this world?” Moana demands, stepping up to Tāwhirimātea.

 

Tāwhirimātea rears back, his cloud-body puffing up. “Good? This world births nothing but greed and sorrow…humans have seen to that.” The wind grows, howling among the stones. “They are worth nothing. They will _return_ to nothing.”

 

Memories of Moana’s childhood rush unbidden to her mind. She can remember how tirelessly her people worked as they tended to the taro fields, not shying from the difficult work; she can picture the fleet of fishermen in the reef, patiently waiting to reel their spoils to feed the village; she can recall the women who would spend hours painting the _tapa_ mats with paint made from the _koka_ tree; she can remember how her tribe would raise the village children _together,_ so all could receive the knowledge of their ancestors, and learn how to cultivate the land and sea. Her people are farmers, hunters, voyagers...centuries of lore and knowledge passed down from generation to generation. How could the god see that as nothing?

 

Moana steps closer again, despite her fear. “You’re _wrong_ ,” she urges, hands up pleadingly. “Mortals _can_ be good, and kind. My people, they’re so generous and compassionate. They love each other and our village so deeply. They’re more than nothing!”

 

Thunder cracks above their heads. “If mortality is so rich, why relinquish yours?” the storm god sneers. “Here you stand, above the humans and free from their foibles, pleading for their absolution. Am I not saving them as well? No longer will they suffer hunger, or sickness, or death. It is _you_ who wishes to condemn them to an eternity of misery, safe in your immortality.”

 

Moana falters, caught off guard by the god’s derisive words. “I…I didn’t choose this,” she contends, and the argument sounds weak even to her own ears. “Even if Tangaroa hadn’t given me the oar, I still would have come.”

 

Tāwhirimātea’s mask slithers down to be close to Moana once again, and she tries not to shiver in fear. “Is that so?” he inquires icily. “Let us entertain this fairytale…after you heroically convince me not to rejoin the heavens and earth, you will cast your oar into the sea and renounce your divinity, content to live the rest of your life as a mortal…is that it?”

 

“I…” Moana hesitates again. She’s been so focused on the mission, the thought of what would come after hasn’t even crossed her mind. Could she do that? Return to mortality?

 

_Does she want to?_

 

Tāwhirimātea pounces on her silence. “ _You see?_ The luster of mortality is dim in the light of godliness,” he cackles, though there is no mirth in his voice.

 

Moana flounders, unable to come up with a response to that. The tapestry of her people is splendid with labor and kinship, but somehow the words to truly convey this fail to reach her lips. “Tāwhirimātea, listen to me-”

 

“Silence, brat,” the storm god commands, cutting her off. “You may cease with the begging.” He peers at her, as if curious. The wind around them seems to slow. “I admit, your audacity to come here and demand these things of me in my own domain…I find it quite amusing.”

 

Moana doesn’t say anything, immediately mistrustful. The mistiness of the god’s form isn’t the only shifty thing about him.

 

“I shall humor your plea, little children, and speak with my brother,” the god declares. “He may come to me and fear no harm…granted he does not arrive in that hideous, bloated form he so enjoys.”

 

Moana and Maui share a wary look.

 

Lacking a better plan, Moana turns back to Tāwhirimātea. “You have to promise,” she says, pointing at him with the blade of Ali’ikai. “You must make a vow before Ranginui not to strike Tangaroa.”

 

Tāwhirimātea’s mask does not move, and somehow Moana gets the feeling he just rolled his eyes anyway. The storm god sighs with exaggerated resignation, raising his arms up as if in supplication. “I, Tāwhirimātea, god of winds and storms, vow before the sky father, Ranginui, that I shall not strike nor lay hand upon Tangaroa, whale god of the sea.” Tāwhirimātea’s hand drifts to hover over his heart—or where his heart would be, if he has one in this form—and underneath a written seal appears, glowing white amongst the dark clouds. It pulses once, before fading.

 

“Satisfied?” Tāwhirimātea asks, his tone void of any emotion.

 

Moana looks at Maui, but he appears as dubious as her. Upon reflection, Tangaroa had failed to give Moana any detailed instructions on how to successfully obtain the vow from Tāwhirimātea. She could only hope the glowing display was genuine, and not some trick.

 

So…now what?

 

Even though Tāwhirimātea can probably hear her anyway, Moana steps closer to Maui to whisper, “What do we do now? Should we go back and tell Tangaroa?” She’s utterly at a loss. Restoring Te Fiti was perfectly straightforward compared to this chaos.

 

Maui fixes her with a look. “He’s a god, Moana. He’s gonna know.”

 

He says it like it’s as obvious as sun rising, which is a little rude. Moana’s expertise has been cultivated in wayfinding, leading her village, and eating more _mukau_ fish in one sitting than anyone else, so forgive her if she’s not a connoisseur of the clairvoyance of gods.

 

“Ah,” Tāwhirimātea murmurs, rising to his full height. “And so he has arrived.”

 

Moana and Maui whirl around, and are greeted with a most awe-inspiring sight. The sea parts, curling upon itself to rise up, and up, and up, until it exposes a clearing. The walls of water are like windows into the sea, and Moana can see fish, turtles, manta rays, just like her first encounter with the ocean so many years ago.

 

The waves pull back like a curtain, revealing the form of a tall man. His long hair is pulled into a thick braid, and he’s robed in a simple _lavalava_ made from _‘ie tōga_. His tan body is completely covered in intricate tattoos; there’s scarcely an inch not shrouded in the ink. The canvas of his skin seems to breathe and change like it houses an entire universe. Moana’s eye is drawn to the especially magnificent design, coiled on his chest just above his heart. It looks familiar somehow…

 

“Brother,” the man greets Tāwhirimātea. “I see you couldn’t be bothered to shed your armor, even for our quaint reunion.”

 

 _Brother?_ Moana realizes at once the tattooed man must be Tangaroa. She blinks at him, trying to reconcile this man with the whale god she had encountered not long ago. The tanned slopes of his face remind Moana greatly of her father.

 

“Tangaroa! What a sight for sore eyes,” Tāwhirimātea acknowledges in a cloyingly sweet tone. “I’ve missed you, dear brother. It has simply been too long.” The storm god holds his smoky limbs out, as if to invite his sibling into an embrace.

 

Tangaroa ignores him, turning instead to Moana from his spot on the shore. “Thank you, Moana,” he says with a nod towards her. “You have done me…no, the world, a great service. You have my gratitude.”

 

Moana smiles shakily at him, feeling overwhelmed. That’s it, she supposes. Journey over. World saved. Time to go home.

 

Moana opens her mouth to respond, but before she can utter a single syllable, a lightning bolt strikes Tangaroa right in the heart, sending him to his knees. The flash is blinding, and Moana’s ears ring with the explosive thunder that follows.

 

“ _Tangaroa!”_ Moana cries, rushing over and dropping down next to him. The god coughs, blood falling from his lips and splattering on the sand, and curls in on himself. Maui crouches down by her side, reaching out to support Tangaroa’s injured body.

 

Moana whirls on Tāwhirimātea. “You son of a bitch! You _lied!”_ she accuses, thrusting Ali’ikai at him.

 

The storm god cackles at her, lightning flashing ever more frequently above his head. “Lie? I did not lie, brat,” he scoffs, voice gleeful. “I vowed I would not strike the whale god, did I not? Do you _see_ a whale, child?”

 

Moana can only gape at him, chest heaving and tears running down her face.

 

Tāwhirimātea laughs again, before reaching down to caress Moana’s face. She flinches back, stumbling a few feet in order to avoid his touch.

 

“You must learn to _listen_ to your elders, foolish brat,” Tāwhirimātea clucks, his tone saccharine. “I have existed since before the earth itself. Did you truly think I could not devise a way to thwart something so inane as a _vow?”_

 

Moana trembles, glancing back at Tangaroa and Maui. “You’re a _monster_ ,” she hisses, heart racing in her chest. Tangaroa is still on his knees, clutching at his chest. The flesh over his heart is gnarled, scorched into blackness is some places. The once-magnificent tattoo is now lost in the burned mess.

 

Tāwhirimātea ignores her. “He is powerless in that form,” Tāwhirimātea rumbles, voice strangely gentle. “And he will share the same fate as our other kin.”

 

The storm god sweeps his arm, summoning a roiling cluster of dark clouds down from the sky. To Moana’s horror, the churning mass reveals the body of another man, trapped in the cloud by shackles made from lightning. His chest rises and falls weakly, and Moana can see upon it the scorched remnants of a tattoo, just like Tangaroa’s.

 

Tāwhirimātea turns his attentions back to Moana. “With Tāne and Tangaroa I may complete the ritual, and finally rejoin our parents as they were meant to be.”

 

Moana recoils as he extends a smoky hand towards her. “Now give him to me,” he commands, towering over the three of them. “In return, I shall make your deaths quick and painless.”

 

Moana thinks of her island. She thinks of the faces of the children, the tales of the elders, of dividing the labor the sharing its fruits. She thinks of the Kakamora’s pleading face as he held her hand in his tiny one. She thinks of Kekoa and his brave sacrifice.

 

She makes a decision.

 

“I am Moana of Motunui, goddess of the waves and sea…and I will _die_ before I hand him over,” Moana declares, raising Ali’ikai.

 

A tremor runs through Tāwhirimātea’s form. “So you shall.” He retracts the extended arm, raising it above his head.

 

Moana calls upon her _mana_ , and the inscriptions on her oar ignite. But before either can make a move, a voice sounds behind her.

 

“Not so fast, princess.”

 

Maui rises from his place next to Tangaroa, and walks up to stand by Moana’s side. “He’ll have to go through both of us,” he murmurs, brandishing his fishhook.

 

Moana feels her heart warm at his assertion. Maui’s eyes are full of nothing but pride and determination, and she draws strength from his support.

 

They turn as one to face Tāwhirimātea, who is watching Maui with an intense gaze. His arm lowers slowly, as if he is in deep contemplation.

 

“Maui…” he utters, voice thoughtful. “I have indeed heard of _you_ …and of your fishhook.”

 

His tone makes Moana even more uneasy than she already is, her glaze flicking between the storm god and Maui. Maui adjusts his grip on the hook. “Yeah? What’s it to you?” he demands, and Moana envies the evenness of his voice.

 

“Now, that is precisely what I should be asking. What is humanity to _you?”_ the storm god counters, and with a flick of his hand ceases the blowing of the wind and silences the thunder. The entire islet falls into utter stillness, cloaked in the shadows of the clouds that circle above like vultures.

 

“You were cast in the sea by your human parents,” Tāwhirimātea murmurs. “They threw you away…like you were nothing. And when you crawled back to them…you had to gift them with wonders, amaze them with your feats of magic and strength…only then would they spare you a glance.”

 

Moana’s heart clenches at the painful words, and she can see Maui’s face growing darker with every uttered syllable. Tāwhirimātea continues without missing a beat, ignoring the growing rage emanating from Maui. “It was never enough, was it? The greed of mortals is infinite. So _why?_ Why fight for those who would so easily discard you?”

 

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” Maui snarls, voice low with fury. Moana watches him, and feels a pang in her chest. She can remember the way Maui’s voice broke as he explained his tattoo to her all those years ago, the way his chin had trembled, just barely, as he told her the sorrowful tale. Unconsciously, she takes a step toward him.

 

Tāwhirimātea pauses. He tracks Moana’s movement, mask swaying slightly as he cocks his head. “No...no, you need not explain anything at all.”

 

The words send a shudder down Moana’s spine, and she takes a deep breath to try and calm her racing heart.

 

“Brother…stop,” a weak voice behind them pleads. Moana turns to see Tangaroa stumble weakly to his feet, his wounded chest heaving with the effort. “Mother and father…they would not wish for this.”

 

Tāwhirimātea bristles. “And what do you know of their wishes? You know _nothing_ of their agony, brother. You do not hear the cries of our father like I do. You do not see his tears.”

 

Tangaroa takes a halting step forward. “I know their separation pains them,” Tangaroa coughs. “But I know…that the destruction caused by their reunion would cause them nothing but anguish.”

 

“ _Silence!”_ Tāwhirimātea roars, hurling another lightning bolt at his brother. It strikes the ground between Moana and Tangaroa, missing them both by a hair. Moana is nearly thrown off her feet by the force of the blow, but Maui reaches out to steady her before she can fall.

 

After Maui confirms that Moana is unharmed, he pushes her behind him. Before Moana can protest the overprotective gesture, Maui’s fishhook glows, and in a flash, he has morphed into a giant hawk.

 

“Hey, fog-butt! It’s _Maui time!”_ Maui crows, swooping towards the god with his talons extended.

 

Tāwhirimātea leans out of the way to dodge the assault, catching Moana’s attention. She doesn’t get the chance to ponder that thought, as Tāwhirimātea begins to speak again.

 

“Half-godling…you and your fishhook may prove useful to me yet,” the storm god remarks. Without any warning at all, he lifts a hand, and with a motion so quick Moana can scarcely track it, bats Maui out of the sky like he’s nothing but a bothersome insect.

 

“ _Maui!”_ Moana cries, watching with horror as the demigod crashes to the ground, forced back into his human appearance from the trauma. When he doesn’t immediately get up, Moana starts to dash towards his fallen form, her heart racing in her chest. Before she can get more than five steps, Tāwhirimātea glides in front of her and blocks her path.

 

Moana glares up at him, fury and fear coursing through her veins as the god’s cloudy form obscures her view of Maui. Tāwhirimātea regards her with the same attention one might pay to something nasty they had just tread on.

 

Enraged at the treatment of her friend, Moana quickly summons a wave of water to lift her into the air, propelling her straight at Tāwhirimātea. She draws back Ali’ikai, preparing to slash at his throat with the glowing, _mana-_ drenched oar, a ferocious shout falling from her lips.

 

Tāwhirimātea does not flinch. “Disappear, nuisance,” he murmurs, and with the swiftness of the lightning he wields, lashes her with a blow so powerful the seas and sky tremble with the aftershock.

 

Everything goes dark.

 

 

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's getting real! Hope you guys enjoyed this one. Let me know how much you hate me for this cliffhanger in the comments! ;)


	9. Heart of a Voyager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a minute since I last updated, huh...sorry about that folks! Finals happened, which wiped out about a week since I couldn't really justify not studying to write haha. However, this chapter is 9000+ words, so I hope that makes up for the wait! 
> 
> This is kind of THE chapter, too, so I wanted to make sure it was well-written, so I could do justice to the characters and the storyline. Keep in mind though, this isn't the last chapter! There's another one after this, and then an epilogue of sorts after that. Keep an eye out!
> 
> As always, thank you for all the kind words. Your reviews give me life. 
> 
> Beta'd by the wise and patient BadOctopus (who has a new drabble out titled "The Chief's Wife" which y'all need to read immediately!)
> 
> Enjoy!

 

When Moana finally hits the water, it feels as though hours have passed. The seconds stretch into eternity, and when she crashes through the surface, it’s as if all time stops. Agony blooms across every inch of her body as Moana descends, forced far into the depths of the ocean by the sheer might of the impact. Through bleary eyes, Moana watches the dim light of the sky fade as she sinks further into the frigid darkness, her oar nowhere to be found.

Moana’s heart feels as though it has been torn in two, the other half left upon the cold shores of Tāwhirimātea’s islet. She can think of nothing but Maui’s motionless body. Heavy with grief and pain, Moana allows her eyes to fall shut.

Moana can feel her heartbeat begin to slow, and she drifts with the current as time seems to freeze around her.

Suddenly, a blue light begins to glimmer beyond her eyelids, dazzling in its brightness and familiarity. She knows to whom it belongs before she even opens her eyes, and the words come gasping from her lips.

“ _Gramma!”_

Indeed, before Moana floats a huge, splendid manta ray, nearly every inch of her radiant with the memorable glowing markings. Tala swims in a circle around Moana, leaving an iridescent trail in her wake, before coming to a stop and facing her once more.

“My dear Moana…” Gramma Tala’s voice echoes from the manta ray, comforting in its familiarity. “I’ve missed you.”

Moana tries to move towards Tala, but the pain in her limbs proves too great, and she can barely muster a weak paddle. Instead, Tala approaches her, brushing Moana softly with one of her massive fins. “Keep still for now,” Tala instructs her, voice gentle. “You will heal quickly, but you must rest for a moment.”

A pause. “Not a bad tattoo,” she adds, sounding pleased.

Moana smiles shakily at her, wishing she could reach out and touch.

“I’m sorry about the look,” Tala apologizes wryly. “Extenuating circumstances.” She looks up, and Moana follows her gaze. Above them is nothing but sea, for how far Moana can only guess.

The sight is a reminder of what happened only scant moments before, and Moana feels her throat closing, choked by anguish. “Gramma, I…I failed. I couldn’t do it,” she sobs out, wishing for nothing more than to be in her grandmother’s warm hug.

“Oh, Moana…it’s not your fault.”

Moana continues on as if Tala hadn’t spoken. “Tāwhirimātea…he has Maui. What if he kills him?” Moana stutters, wracked anew with sorrow at the thought. “I couldn’t save him, or myself…I can’t save _anyone_.” She remembers Kekoa and his brave sacrifice, and the face of the Kakamora elder as he pleaded for her protection. She failed them all.

Moana curls in on herself, body heaving with sobs. Tala comes forward, laying a fin tenderly over her hunched figure. “Moana, that’s not true,” she denies softly. “You restored Te Fiti, you brought voyaging back to our people…Moana, you’ve come so far.”

Moana can’t stop shivering, her body trembling like a sail in a harsh wind.  “I…I’m not meant to be a demigoddess. I’m the wrong choice for this,” she chokes out.  Tāwhirimātea is going to destroy the world, and it’s her fault.

Tala pauses before she responds, as if to collect her thoughts. “Moana…as your father did, and your grandfather, and your ancestors before him…you have the heart of a voyager,” she murmurs. “But voyaging isn’t only about sailing and discovering islands, Moana. It’s about discovering who you are meant to _become_.”

Moana looks at her now, unfurling just slightly like a growing fern.

“Just as you weather storms, and as you learn to read the currents, and as your hands become calloused from the journey,” she continues, the timbre of her voice rising with the beat of Moana’s heart. “When you are out there, alone, with nothing but the sea below you and the stars above you, _that_ is when you truly learn who you are.”

Moana thinks of her first attempt at sailing, the memory of being thrashed around like a ragdoll in the waves clear as day, even now. She can remember the way her foot had ached for days as a reminder of her failure.

“I…I couldn’t do anything,” Moana sniffs, straightening to gaze at Tala.  “I was useless, even with the gift Tangaroa gave me, and now even that’s gone.” Moana cannot recall anything but darkness and pain after she leapt at Tāwhirimātea. The fate of her oar is a mystery.

Tala peers at her, and even in this form Moana can see the love in her eyes. She turns away from Moana, sweeping her fin to create a trail of luminescent particles, as if throwing stars into the sky. “I seem to recall a young girl, just barely sixteen, sailing to Te Ka with nothing but a rickety canoe and what she had learned along the way,” she murmurs, and in the shining cloud Moana can see an image of herself form, journeying on her little boat. “And it was not any magical gift that allowed her to restore Te Fiti, but her love for her island and the call of the ocean in her heart.”

The figure of Moana vanishes as the cloud disperses. Unbidden, Moana’s hand rises to drift through the remains of the shimmering trail.

“Moana…do you know who you are?”

Moana pauses. A memory sparks in her mind, her father’s voice. “ _The story of a man’s life is told in the lines of his hands,”_ he had said to her, gently holding her tiny palm in his own. She examined them closely, then, and found on hers the unblemished skin of a young child, and on his the scars and marks of a life of work.

Moana looks at her own hands now, palms downturned. Even in the glow from Tala’s form, her skin is a deep sun-kissed brown, her nails short for practicality, and there’s some dirt under a few of them. She can see a small scar on the back of her right hand, acquired from an accident with a fishing hook when she had the learned the art from her grandfather. Slowly, Moana turns her hands. Upon her palms she can see calluses, etched onto her skin from years of tending to the taro fields, from beating the _tapa_ mats with an _ike_ , from carrying baskets of coconuts, and from handling the heavy ropes of canoes. A faint band of darkened skin across each palm marks where the _mana_ of her oar had seeped into her during the divining ceremony.

“Who am I…?” she echoes, unsure of her next words. Her gaze flickers back to Tala. “It’s like you said, I’m just a girl who loves her island…and the girl who loves the sea. I became chief to my people, and I…I became a demigoddess of the ocean,” she continues, laughing a little out of sheer disbelief. Even now, the words feel like a dream coming out of her mouth.

Moana takes a deep, shaky breath. “I have journeyed across the world, following the call of the ocean, and the call of my ancestors.” In her mind’s ear, Moana can hear the voices of her people raised in jubilant song, the cheerful chirping of Kekoa, Maui’s boastful laughter. Once again, her gaze is drawn to her upturned palms.

The tapestry of Moana’s life reflects back at her, caught in every line and scar. She curls them into fists.

“There’s a voice inside me…calling me to protect those who I have loved, and who have loved me in return.” Her voice grows in strength with every passing word, and she looks up at Tala now, determination blooming in her chest like the sun. Tala simply gazes back her, a pillar of quiet courage and unending support.

She knows who she is. And she knows what she must do.

“I am _Moana.”_

Though she cannot see it, Moana knows her grandmother is giving her that proud smile she knows so well.

Moana swims close to Tala, who inclines her great, shimmering head so Moana may press against her in a _hongi_. “Gramma…thank you. No matter what happens, I know the way.”

With one last lingering glance at her grandmother, Moana lifts her head and looks to the surface. With a powerful kick, she begins her journey upward.

The ache in her heart seems to recede with every stroke of her arms and with every kick of her legs, and she feels lighter and lighter as the radiance of the surface grows nearer. Though her lungs burn and her limbs ache with the effort, Moana continues to ascend.

Finally, the surface is within arm’s reach, and with one final push, Moana breaks through with a gasp. She takes several deep, heaving breaths. Underwater breathing ability notwithstanding, the oxygen in her lungs feels like a blessing. When Moana looks up, the midday sky above her is dark with storm clouds, and a thick layer of mist has settled over the ocean. She can barely see a few canoe-lengths ahead, so finding Ali’ikai is going to be…a task, to say the least.

Moana casts around a few times, trying to get a bearing on her location. In the distance, she can see the clouds darkening to near-blackness, and even from here the flicker of lightning is visible.

_Tāwhirimātea’s island._

“Hey, ocean?” Moana tries, treading water. “A little help here?”

Nothing.

Moana huffs, rolling her eyes. The ocean’s mercurial temper could be seriously aggravating. “Thanks a— _huh?”_ Moana blinks, distracted by something a little ways in the distance. A tiny ball of light glimmers, just visible in the mist. It’s moving around, like it’s…hopping?

“No way,” Moana breathes, setting off towards it. She swims quickly, and as she nears the light, its jumping seems to increase in both frequency and enthusiasm. A smile breaks out on her face as the source becomes clear.

“Kekoa!”

Indeed, the little frog spirit is hopping about in the mist, chirruping gleefully at Moana as she approaches. When she reaches him, he leaps off his post and into her outstretched palms. “I missed you, my friend,” Moana tells him, pressing her forehead to his in a _hongi._ “But what were you standing on…?” She pulls away to look, before gasping happily.

Her oar!

Moana immediately picks it up, feeling its _mana_ coursing through her veins like an old friend greeting her. “Oh, thank you Kekoa,” Moana breathes, utterly relieved. She presses a kiss to his little head, to which he responds with a happy peep. “Here, you can ride with me,” she tells him, depositing the little frog on her shoulder.

He peers up at her, and she realizes now that he still has three eyes, even as a spirit. “Hm,” she chuckles, “I suppose that’s just who you are, huh?”

Kekoa chirps as if in agreement.

Moana smiles at him again, before turning towards the islet of Tāwhirimātea. “Okay, so first things first, we’ve got a world to save. See that islet? It belongs to Tāwhirimātea, god of storms,” she tells the frog spirit. “He’s made of clouds, but for some reason, he dodged Maui’s attack,” she continues, thinking out loud. “Which means…he must have a physical form underneath.”

Moana summons up a swell, lifting herself from the surface. The image of Tāne and Tangaroa’s matching tattoos suddenly come to mind, as well as the glowing seal that appeared on Tāwhirimātea’s chest…they were all identical. Moana snaps her fingers as it all clicks. “If we can get through that, we can defeat him,” Moana deduces. “His brothers both have tattoos that let them transform, and I’d bet you a hundred coconuts that Tāwhirimātea has one, too!”

She looks down at her shoulder to see Kekoa blinking at her. “None of which you understand, because you are a frog,” she laughs, patting him on the head with a single finger.

Moana begins propelling herself towards the islet, mind cranking furiously. “We just gotta get the jump on him first,” she mutters to herself, trying to figure out just exactly how to do that. _How do you take a god by surprise?_

Before she gets even remotely close to the islet, Moana quickly ducks back below the surface of the water, going deep enough that she’s sure not to leave even a ripple. For all Moana knows this is useless and Tāwhirimātea can sense her anyway, but maybe the ocean will do her a solid and obscure her presence. As she gets closer, Moana starts to formulate a plan.

“Kekoa, I’m gonna need your help, okay?” she asks the little frog, who is tucked against her neck so as not to get blown off by the current. He chirps silently in the water, bubbles streaming from his mouth, which she takes as agreement.

Moana knows she’s near enough when even from her depth in the water she can hear the crash of thunder above. She waits a moment, and when nothing occurs to smite her dead, she plants herself on the sea floor and begins sweeping Ali’ikai in circular motions. A few good rounds later, and Moana has a decently substantial whirlpool forming. “Okay, Kekoa, you’re up,” she tells the little spirit, who squeaks at her with a nod of his tiny head, before he leaps into the vortex and is swept into its currents.

Moana quickly sets off to the other side of the islet, pushing herself towards the surface with a tremendous kick. She focuses _mana_ into the oar, pulling up as much water as she can manage as she ascends. The result is a gigantic swell that trails at her heels as she erupts from the ocean, soaring above the islet of Tāwhirimātea.

In the brief moment she’s airborne, Moana can see Tāwhirimātea still positioned at the center of the islet, though his head is turned towards the shore. For that precious, necessary second, his focus is locked on the whirlpool near the far shore. In the spinning currents shines Kekoa, riding the water on a piece of driftwood like the spectacular diversion she knew he could be.

In the next heartbeat, Moana’s wave crashes over the islet like a miniature tsunami. She takes care to direct the water to behave gently as it passes over Maui and the other gods, sweeping them towards her instead of away. As soon as Moana hits the ground she’s moving, dashing towards Maui’s prone form.

Moana kneels by him, horrified to see the same shackles around his wrists as Tāne. “Maui…” she whispers, running her hands over his exposed chest to check for wounds…and for breathing. To her relief, it rises and falls weakly. _He’s still alive._

“ _You!”_

The furious snarl steals Moana’s attention, and her head whips around to face the far side of the islet. There, Tāwhirimātea stands, appearing perfectly unharmed and utterly enraged. The smoke of his body roils violently as he rises to his full height. Moana leaps to her feet, moving to stand protectively in front of her three divine charges.

Suddenly, Tāwhirimātea calms. He takes a deep breath, and smoothes back the clouds around his mask as if it were untidy hair, collecting himself. Moana isn’t sure she should be relieved or worried—angry Tāwhirimātea is explosive, but calculating Tāwhirimātea is likely just as dangerous.

“Before you congratulate yourself,” he rumbles, now unmoving, “I must inform you that no matter what transpires here, your people are doomed.”

Moana’s heart nearly stops in her chest. “What do you mean?” she demands, afraid of the answer.

Tāwhirimātea lifts his arms, as if in a shrug. “The pale beings…they will soon happen upon your island,” he tells her with feigned compunction. “Within weeks…if not days.”

Moana tries her best to keep the sheer terror she feels from showing on her face. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

If Tāwhirimātea could smile at her, she knows he would. “Does it matter?” he asks. “Some day, they _will_ find your people…and on that day, your people will die.”

Moana’s brain just…freezes.

“What’s Fog-Butt muttering about now?” a voice echoes from behind Moana, and she whirls. Maui is sitting up, face pinched in discomfort as he peers down at the magical shackles around his wrists.

“Maui!” Moana cries, reassured at his consciousness. “Here, let me get you out of those,” she says, and with a swing of her oar she cleaves the restraints, sending electric sparks flying into the air.

Maui sucks in a breath as he’s freed from the lightning, rubbing his wrists. The skin is raw with painful-looking burns, and Moana wishes she could somehow heal the wounds. But there are more serious things at stake in this moment.

“Maui, you need to run,” Moana says to him urgently, turning away to keep her eyes on Tāwhirimātea. For his part, the storm god seems content simply to silently observe her actions. “You need to get back to my island, my people are in danger.”

“ _What?!_ Are you crazy? I’m not leaving you here!” Maui protests, and Moana can hear his pained grunt as he gets to his feet.

Moana doesn’t look at him. _Cannot_ look at him. “Maui, you have to. They’ll die without protection. I’ll keep Tāwhirimātea busy, just _get out of here!”_ Moana commands, her voice breaking. The last thing she wants is for Maui to leave her alone on this miserable rock, but the safety of Moana’s people far outweighs her feelings.

“Moana…” His voice sounds…heartbroken, and Moana’s gaze flickers back to him involuntarily. “Moana, I can’t leave…”

“Maui, you _have_ to—”

“ _Moana!_ I can’t leave because…he has my _hook_ , Moana. I’m…I’m powerless.”

Moana feels her stomach drop. Without the fishhook, Maui’s stranded. The canoe would take too long to reach her island, and that was _if_ it managed to get away from Tāwhirimātea’s range of attack. It’s hopeless, she realizes. Moana is completely on her own here.

“You are beginning to bore me,” Tāwhirimātea drawls from across the islet. A crackle in the air has Moana instinctively pulling up a wall of water before the ensuing lightning bolt can hit her. The force of it knocks her away from Maui and the other two gods, and she can just barely see Maui pull them behind the relative safety of a large boulder.

Moana looks back at Tāwhirimātea, who appears to be gearing up for another lightning strike. Luckily, his attention is on her, and not on the other gods. She manages to summon another shield of water right before the blow, but once again the aftershock knocks Moana backwards, throwing her against the boulder behind her. Her skull hits the stone with a _crack_ and for a few terrifying seconds, Moana wonders if she’s going to black out. However, the stars swimming in her vision quickly dissipate, and Moana is back on her feet.

“I see you have a few tricks,” Tāwhirimātea calls out mockingly, raising both his arms. “Unfortunately, you will need more than just pageantry to defeat me.” With a flick of his wrists, Tāwhirimātea summons winds and rain so powerful it nearly throws Moana down again. The howling gusts pummel the tiny islet, and the downpour is so torrential it’s nearly blinding, stinging Moana’s skin with its force.

However, despite the violent squall and pounding rain, Moana feels…strong. _Grounded._ The storm god’s power may be an unstoppable force, but she is an immovable object, rooted in place by a strength as of yet unknown to her. Moana looks down at her palms, feeling _mana_ pulse in her veins as she straightens from her hunched position. The source is not from Ali’ikai, she realizes, but from herself, drumming through her body with each beat of her heart.

“Finally,” she mutters to herself. “About damn time the super-strength showed up.” With a mighty leap Moana lands on the nearest boulder, and the new height allows her to survey the terrain of the small islet. Tāwhirimātea still stands at the center, orchestrating the squall with little flicks of his hands, and he’s watching her closely. He’s still not taking her seriously, Moana realizes—and that could very well be the solution to his defeat.

With that in mind, Moana leaps to the nearest boulder, and then the next, and the next after that, darting over the peaks of the perimeter stones. Tāwhirimātea is forced to turn in order to keep facing her, and she notices with satisfaction that it seems to irk him. He tries to knock her off with a powerful gale, rattling the stones with its force—but in Moana’s new state, it feels like but a gentle sea breeze rustling her hair. She continues to jump from stone to stone, and quickly she’s already completed half a lap around the islet.

The glint of water droplets on the next boulder—the tallest stone of the perimeter—catches her eye, reminding her of the oar in her grasp. Instead of jumping onto the next stone, Moana summons a swell of water, freezing it solid before she lands on it, before springing off and pulling up another frozen wave. She can hear Tāwhirimātea snarl with frustration as she continues to avoid his gusts of wind and rain, and she can _feel_ him become less controlled. Suddenly, the wind abates, and the rain lessens to barely a drizzle.

Moana pauses as she lands nimbly on the icy surf, keeping a keen eye on Tāwhirimātea. His smoky shoulders are heaving beneath the mask, and its appearance seems even more menacing than before. “Your talents are certainly…theatrical,” the storm god acknowledges sourly, raising a shaky hand. “If only they were more _useful!”_ he sneers, and hurls a bolt of lightning at Moana.

Anticipating the move, Moana has already begun to dodge, and quickly jumps onto another wave of frozen ocean water. The bolt hits the swell she was perched on not a heartbeat before, blasting off a chunk and sending massive, glittering shards dashing over the stone. Even in the dim, grey light of the heavy storm clouds above, they sparkle magnificently as they scatter.

Moana’s heart skips a beat as realization strikes.

“Die, you incessant vermin!” Tāwhirimātea roars, flinging another bolt at Moana. She dives out of the way, and again the ice behind her ruptures into brilliant fragments. The blast actually propels her forward, allowing Moana to leap even further for her next frozen pillar. She does this again, and again, and again, feeding off of Tāwhirimātea’s near-hysterical fury, until she completes a full lap around the islet.

Finally, the storm god seems almost winded by his efforts, shoulders drooping and chest heaving—and when he doesn’t immediately send another bolt at her, Moana takes the opportunity to hop off of her icy perch and onto the apex stone.

Moana observes her work from her new post. The islet, formerly crowned with just a ring of tall boulders, is now haloed with swells of frozen sea, and the gigantic shards from Tāwhirimātea’s lightning bolts litter the ground.

Once a barren hunk of rock, Tāwhirimātea’s island is now a crown of ice.

Moana stands on the stone, gazing down upon Tāwhirimātea. From here, he looks…tattered. Fragile. _Small._

He stares at her now, glowing gaze burning underneath the mask. “You _mongrel,_ ” he rasps, fury in his voice. “I will turn you to ash.”

“Hold that thought,” Moana tells him with a smirk and a wink, before letting out a thunderous bellow and holding Ali’ikai in front of her. Tāwhirimātea pauses, clearly taken aback.

“ _Ā_ _Upane! Ka upane!”_ Moana cries, gripping Ali’ikai with one hand, and slapping her elbow with the other. She stomps her feet rhythmically, two for each word. “ _Hupane! Kaupane!”_ she continues, summoning every last scrap of _mana_ left in her and pushing it into her oar.

She doesn’t have to look at Tāwhirimātea to know that he is befuddled. This _haka_ , this song of her ancestors would be unknown to him, as a god. But for Moana, it sings in her veins like fire, crying louder with every drumbeat of her heart.

Moana grounds herself, feeling the power of the ocean flow into her from where she stands rooted in the earth. “ _Whiti te rā!_ **_Hī!_ ** _”_

On the last, triumphant syllable, Moana thrusts the blade of Ali’ikai towards the clouds. The inscriptions ignite, magnificently bright in their radiance, and the wood in Moana’s palm burns with _mana_.

Above the demigoddess, the clouds—once a swirling, dark vortex—tremble as they slow to a halt. A heartbeat later…the squall splits like a _tapa_ mat being ripped in two, folding back on itself to bare the blue sky beyond. Soon, only a few grey tufts remain of the dark squalls, dotting the sky.

Like an eager child, the sun nearly seems to leap past the parting clouds, throwing down its rays upon the islet and washing it in brilliant light. The beams of sunlight hit the scattered ice with blinding intensity, _ricocheting,_   _reflecting, refracting_ —bounding from shard to shard and building off one another to create a nest of light so bright it could rival the sun herself. Standing at the very center of this breath-taking congregation of sunlight is Tāwhirimātea.

The storm god lets out a blood-curdling wail as the beams converge upon him, and he tries to flinch away—but the light that surrounds him is all-encompassing and there is nowhere to escape. Moana can’t help but be fascinated by the disconcerting sight. The smoke of Tāwhirimātea’s body sizzles as it’s chased away, and his entire form begins to shrink. He claws at his mask and at the smog around his chest, howling with agony.

After only a few moments, Tāwhirimātea is no taller than a human, and his mask is almost comically large in comparison to his frame. He lurches backwards, likely hoping to stumble into a shadow, but before Moana can move to stop him, Tāwhirimātea steps into a puddle…and _slips_. He lands hard on his back, and the force of the fall extinguishes the remnants of his cloud armor, and his mask turns to dust. With a puff of smoke, Tāwhirimātea is left in his human form.

Moana can see the tattoo on his chest—identical to his brothers’—and knows what she must do. With a fierce cry Moana leaps down from the stone, wielding Ali’ikai like a spear. She lands standing astride of Tāwhirimātea’s crumpled form, and he flinches, squeezing his eyes shut tight and curling his hands into defensive fists. The action is so… _human_ that Moana pauses, Ali’ikai’s blade halting just scant inches from his skin.

The storm god is so… _small_ from this close. He has the same curly, dark hair as his brother, but where Tangaroa is wiry, Tāwhirimātea is trim, and Moana can see that his hands are almost delicate in appearance. His eyes blink open, and he stares at her warily, hands still drawn protectively close to his face.

“Why?” he asks, voice shaking. “Why do you fight so fiercely when you know your people will die?”

Moana’s grip flexes on her oar at the grim reminder. But the answer to Tāwhirimātea’s question is already at her lips, having risen from her heart.

“Love,” she tells him simply, drawing her oar back just so. “Love is why I fight. I love Maui, and I will protect him. I love my people, and I will protect them.” The utterances come without hesitation.

Moana steps back from Tāwhirimātea, though she watches him closely. “I don’t care if I have to fight for a thousand years,” she declares. “I will live and die for those who are precious to me.”

Tāwhirimātea gazes at her searchingly, and makes no move to get up. There is no understanding in his eyes, and her stomach drops. How can she get through to him?

The storm god opens his mouth to speak, when suddenly the sky becomes utterly dark, as if night had fallen in a heartbeat. Before Moana can even react, a great light shines down upon them as stars cloak the night sky like a blanket settling, converging into a radiant cluster right above their heads. The stars somehow seem both close enough to touch and infinitely far away, and Moana cannot contain an awed gasp.

 _“Tāwhirimātea, my sweet, foolish son,”_ a deep voice booms, both sonorous and mellow as it echoes over the islet. Son? _Could it be…?_

“Father?” Tāwhirimātea utters in a tiny, stunned voice, completely transfixed by the stars that twinkle above them. Moana’s heart skips a beat as her suppositions are confirmed—it is Ranginui, Sky Father of the earth itself.

“ _You always were the more tender-hearted of your brothers,”_ the voice echoes, warm with wistful affection. “ _My dear boy…indeed, I miss Papatuanuku so. I feel her loss as keenly as I did eons ago.”_ Ranginui’s voice falls upon them like rain, and Moana can feel his sorrow echo in her bones.

“ _But you must know, Tāwhirimātea…the space between us is abundant with life and rich with so much love. Though I long for Papa, I would not sacrifice it.”_  Ranginui’s voice is somber, but there is genuine warmth in it as he speaks of the world that separates him from his beloved. The stars pulsate with each word, like a heartbeat in the sky.

Tāwhirimātea gazes up at the heavens, eyes wide and chest heaving. Moana can see tracks of tears glimmering on his cheeks in the starlight, and her heart clenches for him. She can only imagine the pain Tāwhirimātea must feel for his parents. Moana looks down at the earth beneath her feet, and wonders at the agony of Papatuanuku. Is she listening right now, yearning for her husband?

“ _Take care, my son,”_ Ranginui says at last. “ _And listen to what this intelligent young demigoddess has to say.”_ The final words are said in a tone of soft, parental reprimand, reminding Moana so acutely of her father that it stings.

At once, the sky returns to its midday brightness once more, with no trace of the Sky Father’s visit save for the tears on Tāwhirimātea’s face. Moana has to blink and collect herself in order to process what just happened. Ranginui, Father of the Sky, just visited them…and called Moana intelligent. _What._

Moana’s attention returns to Tāwhirimātea when he shifts on the ground, but he simply sits up so he can wipe the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. Tāwhirimātea appears…quite young, now that she really looks at him. Not much older than her, and certainly no older than Maui. He has shoulder-length curly hair that frames a slim face, and he’s wearing a very simple _lavalava._ He looks like a kid, not a god.

“I’m just so tired of hearing my father’s cries, you know?” Tāwhirimātea admits, sniffing. The phrasing is distinctly casual in comparison to his earlier delivery, and Moana wonders with perplexity just how much of Tāwhirimātea’s godly, menacing affectation is bluster. She waits patiently for him to continue speaking, though some of her attention is caught by movement from behind a boulder—Maui steps out into the sunlight, looking mostly uninjured.

“It h-hurts to hear him cry for Papa,” Tāwhirimātea continues miserably, his shoulders slumped and his eyes trained on the ground. “And I know she misses him too. When I saw how horribly the land was being treated…it made me so angry, knowing they sacrificed so much for it.”

Maui has come to stand beside Moana now, and his presence is a comfort. Moana is clearly quite capable of taking care of herself, but having the sure strength of Maui on her side is heartening, especially after such an astonishing encounter. She glances over at him, gaze automatically drawn to his eye-catching tattoos that herald his triumphs as a demigod. The sight of them plants a seed in her mind…the beginnings of an idea so far-fetched that even Gramma Tala might raise an inquisitive brow at it. But the seed quickly takes root, and before any doubt can set in, has bloomed into a full-fledged, utterly unbelievable plan.

“I have an idea,” she blurts, unable to contain her growing excitement. If her idea works…then not only will Moana save the world, but also accomplish something even more incredible. “But we need Maui’s fishhook back.”

Tāwhirimātea eyes her warily, but it would seem that his contention has all but fizzled out. There is no anger in his eyes, not anymore—just defeat, and a despair that seems to be older than the god himself. Without removing his gaze from Moana, Tāwhirimātea flicks a hand to call down another small storm cloud. The little puff reveals the magical fishhook, and it floats over to offer it to Maui, who plucks it from the hovering tuft with only mild apprehension.

Moana can’t help but roll her eyes as Maui smacks a reverent kiss to the handle of the hook, gazing at it with the kind of affection typically reserved for a lover. Unbelievable. He treated that thing with more respect than he gave to _her_ —a chief! Shaking herself, Moana focuses on the task at hand.

But before she can say another word, a tiny _peep!_ catches her attention. She looks down to find a little, glowing creature sitting at her feet. “Kekoa!” she cries happily at the sight of the small spirit frog, glad to see him unharmed. Kekoa chirps again, and she leans down so he can hop into her palm. Moana pats him on the head before depositing him on her shoulder. “Good boy, Kekoa! Who’s a good little diversion? You are!”

“Uh…”

The interjection from Tāwhirimātea brings Moana back to reality and she clears her throat. “Right,” she says, standing up straight. “My idea. Let’s get back to that.”

Tāwhirimātea gazes at her flatly, looking unimpressed.

“I have… _no_ idea if this is even going to work,” she admits. “But I think it’s worth a try.” Moana turns to Maui, grinning at him. “How about we try some fishing, Maui?”

Maui stares at Moana for a second before comprehension sets in, and then a smug, excited smirk curls over his mouth. “ _Way_ ahead of ya, curly,” he says as if it was his idea all along. “I’m gonna need a lift, though.”

Moana rolls her eyes again, smiling fondly. “Way ahead of _you_ , Maui,” she quips, summoning a swell of water to lift them from the islet and over a little ways to open sea.

“Um, what are you _doing?”_ Tāwhirimātea calls out to them from the shore, now standing with his arms akimbo. The huffy exasperation is a far cry from his earlier destructive rage-fest, and Moana can’t help but marvel at the absurdity of it all.

The leftover adrenaline from the… _disagreement_ earlier makes her feel just a bit reckless, and she gives the storm god a cheerful wave. “Just trust me!” she answers, moving them a little further out to sea. Something in her heart tells her _this_ is the right spot, and she can feel the ocean flutter around her legs in agreement. “Oh, and free your brothers!” she adds as an afterthought, remembering the shackled gods.

Even from their distance Moana can hear Tāwhirimātea mutter as he stomps away to do just that, with any luck. How Moana went from being locked in a deadly battle with the storm god to bossing him around like he was a bad-mannered village boy, she’ll never know. The ocean shivers around her legs in excitement for what’s about to (hopefully) happen.

Maui, who is almost pressed against Moana due to the nature of traveling by magical ocean wave, brandishes his hook while cracking his knuckles and neck. “Let’s do this!” he crows, and with a mighty swing of his arm, slings the giant fishhook down to the water below. It hits the surface with a splash and, and the line in Maui’s hands quickly loses its slack.

Moana, with the help of the ocean, uses her oar to ease the hook’s path as it travels to the far depths of the water, and she can _feel_ when it finally hits the floor. Adorably, Maui’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he fiddles with the line, trying to find a spot that will catch. She can see the moment he succeeds, as his entire face lights up with a jubilant grin. Moana’s heart skips a beat, and not only because she is about to witness precisely what elevated Maui into true demigod status.

“Lend me a hand?” Maui asks, offering the line in his hands. Moana takes hold, though she suspects he would be just fine without her and that the request is simply a sweet gesture. Her grip tightens on the rope as she blushes, and she has to fight to keep the swell under them steady. Getting a solid grip on the line while still holding Ali’ikai ( _and_ while trying to wrangle in her emotions) is tricky, but she manages.

Maui looks to Moana, a smirk on his lips and warmth in his eyes, and gently bumps her shoulder with his. “Ready?”

Moana returns the grin, focusing her _mana_ into her arms as she steadies herself, and nods. She glances down at Tāwhirimātea’s islet, and can see now that the three brothers are standing at the shore, observing the two of them. She hopes this works.

“Ready!”

As one, they begin to pull hard on the rope. Moana can see Maui’s muscles bulge and flex as he yanks, and she can feel her own tensing almost painfully as she pulls with all her might. The coarse rope abrades her palms, but she doesn’t stop—she _won’t_ stop, until they succeed. It seems like they’ve barely made any headway, but the ocean swirling around Moana’s legs vibrates more and more with excitement, so it must be working.

“Almost there,” Maui grunts, voicing Moana’s thoughts.

Moana thinks of her island, of her parents—she thinks of the ancient anguish in Ranginui’s voice and the way her own heart skips and leaps when she’s near Maui—and _pulls_ with every last shred of strength she has. It feels like nothing happens—when all of a sudden the resistance just _gives_.

The wave Moana and Maui are riding on is knocked from the air by the utterly gigantic island that suddenly erupts from the sea. Maui and his hook are sent tumbling rather inelegantly into the water, but the ocean rears up to catch Moana and gentle her fall. Moana watches with wide eyes as the new island continues to rise from the sea, shooting up from depths unknown and riding on the force of being freed.

The island is actually a mountain, Moana realizes as she watches it grow taller and taller. Finally, the landmass’s momentum begins to subside, and it slows to a halt.

It’s… _huge._

The base of the newborn island is shaped like a crescent moon, and Tāwhirimātea’s islet sits quite perfectly in the curve of the shoreline. The rest of the island stretches up into a few small peaks, but at the center lies the tallest mountain Moana has ever laid eyes on. The narrow summit disappears into the clouds above, and to Moana it almost seems to touch the sky. For now, its earth is bare, but Moana has no doubt it will soon be lush with greenery.

“Wow,” she breathes, completely awed at the magnificent sight, and Kekoa peeps in concurrence on her shoulder. This was her intention from the beginning, but to see it truly happen…

“Wow,” Maui agrees, having swum up to tread water next to her. “Not bad for your first island, curly,” he quips, though there are traces of real amazement in his voice.

“Thanks,” Moana replies absently, still transfixed by the sheer height of the island. Could her outlandish plan have actually worked?

Together, the two of them quickly make their way over to the rocky shore of the island. The three brothers are already there, busily marveling at the new landmass. To Moana’s relief, both Tāne and Tangaroa are standing despite their injuries.

“I gotta hand it to ya, kid,” says Tāne, running a hand over his bald head. “This is pretty neat.”

Tāne is built much more like Maui than like his brothers, and he sports a rather impressive beard instead of hair on his head. His overall demeanor isn’t too unlike Maui’s as well, and Moana decides at once the two of them must never be left to their own devices with one another, for the sake of humanity.

“Thank you,” she responds with genuine gratitude, though Moana worries her efforts may have been only for show. If her plan had truly succeeded, something would have happened by now, she thinks. Moana looks up at the sky, which is now a clear blue save for a few fluffy white clouds, and looks for a sign of…well, _anything._

She waits for a few moments, and just when cold disappointment begins to pool in her belly, a fat raindrop lands right on her forehead. Another one plops onto her nose, then another, and another…even though there’s barely a cloud left in the sky. The droplets are huge, and almost… _warm?_

Moana turns to Maui, hoping for an explanation, but his attention is on the brothers. All three of them are staring at the sky with open wonder, mouths gaping. Tāwhirimātea has both of his hands lifted and upturned, catching the rain the rain in his palms. “Father…” he murmurs, voice shaky. “He’s…crying.”

Moana freezes, unsure whether she should celebrate or fall on her knees in contrition. She shares a wary look with Maui, who seems to be just as perplexed.  “I’m sorry…?” she ventures, gaze flickering between the three brothers. 

Tangaroa blinks at her apology, before breaking into a warm smile. “No need for apologies, child,” Tangaroa responds, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His eyes are wet. “Ranginui may be weeping, but these are tears of joy.”

“You…you connected the earth and sky,” Tāwhirimātea whispers, and his cheeks are streaked with the rain and his own tears. “For the first time in so long…Rangi and Papa…” Tāwhirimātea in unable to finish his sentence, and he falls to his knees, sobs wracking his body. Tāne is silent, though his chin trembles minutely.

Suddenly, the earth beneath them seems to rise and fall—the movement is slight, almost unnoticeable—but as the earth eases, steam rises from the ground like a great sigh. The haze curls around them, as if an in embrace, and Moana notices with a start that the burns on Maui’s wrists are healing as they are touched by the vapor. “Papatuanuku,” she murmurs in sudden comprehension, feeling the steam mend her own bruises and scratches.

Moana’s eye burn with hot tears as the palpable joy of Ranginui and Papatuanuku fills the air at their reunion. She cannot help but remember her own parents, hoping for her return on her island, and a pang lances her heart. _Her island…_

Unbidden, her hand seeks out Maui’s, needing the physical contact as she remembers the horrors awaiting her people. She must return to them as quickly as possible. Moana waits a moment, allowing Tāwhirimātea to collect himself a little before she speaks. “I’m sorry, but we have to leave right now,” she says, tightening her grip on Maui’s hand. He squeezes back.

“My people are in terrible danger, and I need to protect them,” Moana continues, turning towards the sea.

“Wait!” Tāwhirimātea interjects, stepping forward. “I want to apologize. I…I am so sorry for all of the horrible things I did, to you and your friend,” he says, sounding sincerely contrite. “Please, let me help. I can help protect your island from those _things._ ”

Moana pauses, surprised at the offer. Having the god of storms on her side would certainly be an advantage. She glances at Maui, and he shrugs. _Helpful_.

“We can _all_ help,” Tangaroa adds, laying a hand on each of his brothers’ shoulders. “We have failed as gods, Moana. We did not protect those creatures from their own greed, and so allowed them to wreak such havoc upon themselves, and upon the world. For that, _we_ are sorry.”

Moana is a little floored at the admonition. It was one thing for Tāwhirimātea to apologize for smacking her and Maui around, but Tangaroa’s apology is staggering in its gravity. She doesn’t know what to say.

“I’ll send storms to divert their ships,” Tāwhirimātea proposes. “The wind will never fill their sails, and I can cast a mist to shroud the way to your islands and guard them from detection. They’ll _never_ be able to reach your people,” he vows, touching the tattoo on his chest. It glows brightly before dimming.

Tangaroa smiles proudly at his younger sibling. “And I shall make certain that the sea never favors their path,” he promises, his tattoo beginning to glow as well. “And I shall endeavor to teach them to respect the land and the sea, so they may abandon their greed and their destructive ways.”

Tangaroa and Tāwhirimātea turn inquisitively to Tāne, who is absently straightening out his _lavalava_. He blinks at their expectant gazes, looking baffled. “What?”

Tāwhirimātea gives Tāne an exasperated look, to which he shrugs, nonplussed. “Sorry, didn’t know I was part of this little soirée,” he says defensively. “Yeah, I’ll make sure those little punks learn how to respect nature…with gentle wisdom and a kind hand,” Tāne adds at Tangaroa’s reprimanding glare. His tattoo flashes, just like his brothers’.

Moana is completely silent throughout all of this, though she can feel happy tears gathering in her eyes. Her home…her people will be safe. Without thinking, she steps forward and throws her arms around as much of the three siblings as she can reach, pulling them into a hug. They all freeze at first, unused to such human displays of affection, but hesitantly return the embrace. “Thank you,” she murmurs, squeezing them once before letting go.

Tāne is the first to break the emotional moment, turning to look at the new island with a critical eye and his hands on his hips. “This place could use a little sprucing up,” he declares, and rolls his shoulders. “Man, I’m stiff. Ten thousand years will give you such a crick in the neck!”

Tāwhirimātea rolls his eyes. “I had you locked up for two _days_ , Tāne.”

“Well, it _felt_ like ten thousand years,” Tāne huffs, crossing his arms. “Besides, why are we arguing the semantics of how you _kidnapped_ me?”

“ _Kid_ napped? More like old-man-napped, you geezer,” Tāwhirimātea snorts, and then has to dodge Tāne’s retaliatory punch to the arm. Tangaroa steps in between them to mediate, trying to settle his squabbling siblings.

Moana can’t help but giggle—somewhat disbelievingly—at the brotherly bickering between the gods. It’s just so… _human_.

Eventually, Tangaroa manages to separate the quarrelling duo. Tāne huffily fixes his _lavalava_ and smoothes his beard before stepping back to observe the island once more. “As I was _saying_ ,” he announces pointedly, “This island requires my discerning touch.”

Tāne removes a small woven satchel from the waist of his _lavalava_ , and dumps its contents in his palm. It appears to be an assortment of seeds. “A little breeze, if you’d be so kind,” Tāne says to Tāwhirimātea. The storm god rolls his eyes but complies, flicking a hand to summon a gentle wind.

Tāne tosses the handful of seeds into the air, and Moana watches in awe as they’re caught on the breeze and carried around the island, swirling up and up and _up_ to reach even the skyscraping peak. For a heartbeat, nothing happens…and then suddenly, lush foliage begins to sprout everywhere the floating seeds had reached. Plants spring forth from the rock, blanketing the entire island in a lawn of vibrant greenery. Coconut trees pop up, one after the other, until the shore is lined with groves of them. Moana simply gapes, overwhelmed by the beautiful sight. It’s like witnessing the restoration of Te Fiti all over again.

Tāne observes his work with a pleased nod. “Much better,” he states. “Now, as thrilling as today has been, I’ve got to get home. Tāwhirimātea, _you_ can give me a ride since I don’t do well in the ocean and it’s your fault I’m even here in the first place.”

Tāwhirimātea grumbles, but does as he’s told and summons a happy-looking white puff of a cloud, ostensibly for them to ride on. But before Tāne can clamber onto it, Moana steps hesitantly forward. “Um, one more thing. If you wouldn’t mind…” Moana gestures to the sad, crippled remains of her canoe, wrecked on the shore of Tāwhirimātea’s islet. Evidently, a battle with a god who tosses lightning around like coconuts does not do well for a little wooden boat.

“Ah! Yes, of course,” Tāne acquiesces. “As thanks for rescuing me. You’ve got chutzpah, kid, I’ll give you that.” With a sweep of his arms, a new canoe swirls into existence in a cloud of leaves right before their very eyes. “Though to be honest, I prefer my trees living, instead of nailed together and bobbing around on that miserable puddle.”

Moana smiles wryly at him. “Noted,” she says. “Thank you, Tāne.”

He smiles at her, before turning to Tangaroa and leaning in for a _hongi_ with his brother. “So long, Tangaroa. Say hi to the fishies for me.”  

Tāne steps back so he can hop up onto the cloud. “Pip pip, little brother! I’ve got a grove of some rather persnickety _kauri_ trees, and they’re sure to be cranky without me around.”

Tāwhirimātea groans, but climbs up after him, and moments later they’re soaring away over the horizon. Moana watches as they continue to shrink, and turns to Tangaroa once they vanish. “You have grown into your abilities,” he comments, pride in his voice.

Moana’s smile falters, and she looks down at her feet. She can feel Maui move close to her, and she’s thankful for his support. “Tangaroa…I am grateful for the gift you have given me, but I’m not sure I’m meant to be a demigod,” she murmurs, realizing just how true the words are as they leave her mouth. “I have a duty as chief to my people.”

Tangaroa smiles gently at her, sympathy in his eyes. “I understand,” he says. “I encourage you to return to your home, and think earnestly of your heart wants. Thank you for your bravery, Moana. The world is safe because of your courage and initiative.”

Moana exchanges a _hongi_ with the sea god, before stepping back so he may do the same with Maui. “Do visit me, once in a while,” Tangaroa says to Maui, ruffling his hair. “Punga and Tūtewehiwehi miss you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maui responds, swatting Tangaroa’s hand away. “See you around, Pops.”

Moana blinks at _that_ particular exchange, dumbfounded. Before she can say anything, however, Tangaroa grins at Maui and walks to the shore, diving into the water. He disappears into the waves and does not resurface.

“Wait a minute,” Moana begins, holding up a hand. “Tangaroa is your _dad?”_

Maui looks at her like she’s stupid. “No, I had human parents, remember? Tangaroa did raise me though, after the whole…you know, _thing.”_

Moana balks at him. “And you didn’t think to tell me that before I first met him?” she demands, smacking Maui on the chest. He grabs the offending hand and holds it in his own so she can’t land another blow.

“I didn’t wanna stress you out,” he replies evenly. “You would have totally freaked if you knew he was my sort-of dad.”

Moana rolls her eyes, though she doesn’t tug her hand away. “Unbelievable,” she mutters. Movement in her peripheral catches her attention, and she turns her head just in time to see a huge whale breaching on the horizon. The beast lunges out of the water, the sunlight glinting off its back, and then dives with a magnificent splash. She can see its tail lift out of the water, before it’s brought down on the surface in a hard slap, sending sprays of seawater into the air. It’s Tangaroa, waving goodbye.

Moana watches the sea god’s antics with a smile on her face, and she can’t help the contented sigh that she lets out. What a _day_.

Suddenly, the memory of her rather dramatic…er, _confession_ rises to the forefront of her mind, and she flushes. She turns back to Maui but looks everywhere but his eyes, feeling her cheeks burn. Maui gazes at her curiously. “Um…you didn’t happen to be, you know, _conscious_ when I was talking to Tāwhirimātea and hear what I said earlier, did you?” she asks nervously.

Maui’s head cocks to the side, considering. “Hear what?”

Moana’s stomach somehow sinks and flips at the same time. A fraction of her is relieved that he hadn’t heard, but the rest of her…the disappointment is acute and bitter. Moana deflates, unsure where to go from here.

Suddenly, Maui sweeps Moana into his arms and holds her close, a happy grin on his face. “Oh, did you mean the part where you said you were helplessly in love with me?” he crows, spinning her around.

Moana shrieks with joyous, surprised laughter, holding on tight as he twirls. Bravery grips her heart, and Moana takes Maui’s face in her hands as he finally stands still, her palms resting on his laugh-lined cheeks.

“I’ll show you _helpless_ ,” she declares, and boldly leans in to press her lips against his. Maui startles at first, but before Moana can lose her nerve, he adjusts his grip so he can hold her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head.

The kiss is chaste, but tingles zip down Moana’s spine all the same. She can feel herself going boneless in Maui’s warm arms, and she moves to wrap her arms around his neck. His lips are soft against hers, and his hands are tender where they hold her. It’s _perfect._

When they finally break apart, both a little breathless, Moana can’t help the giddy grin that curls her lips. Maui returns the smile, though his is considerably more smug. “How’s _that_ for divine?” he quips, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Moana rolls her eyes, and pulls Maui into another kiss to shut him up.

 

 

**TBC**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haka translation (which is a tidbit of the All Blacks soccer team haka)  
> UPANE! KA UPANE! (Together! Keep together!)  
> HUPANE! KAUPANE! (Up the step! A second step!)  
> WHITI TE RA! HI! (Out comes the sun! Ahh!)  
> -  
> AND THERE WE HAVE IT! 
> 
> Well, sort of. Like I said, there's another chapter after this one and an epilogue (sort of) after that! So there is still much more character development and storylines to be had. What will Moana choose, her powers, or her people?
> 
> Stay tuned! Also, the next chapter is going to to be another long one (though probably not quite as lengthy as this one) so it might be another week or so until it drops :)
> 
> As always, reviews are loved dearly!


	10. Navigating Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL I LIED this is NOT the last chapter, and neither is the next, actually (hence the new total chapter number of 13 instead of 11). Surprising absolutely no one, I am longwinded and bad at planning. More chapters for you all to read though, so that's a win, right?
> 
> Anyway, we're actually just getting started on the last arc of stuff for this story. Also, peep that reference to the film soundtrack in the title :) it's one of my favorites!
> 
> Beta'd by my buddy BadOctopus, who rocks my socks off. 
> 
> Happy holidays!

The routine of preparing the canoe for sailing—adjusting the halyard, checking the currents, and finally shoving off—is attention-consuming enough that Moana and Maui simply work in silence for a few minutes, falling easily back into their teamwork. However, once they’re on open water and the only noise is the gentle lapping of the waves and the breeze, it gets a little…well, _awkward_.

Moana fiddles restlessly with the oar, watching as Maui ties a bowline in the sheet. His hands are as nimble as ever, and she wonders if he was affected by the kiss as much as she is. She’s just beginning to doubt it when Maui makes a noise of confusion—and she can see that he’s managed to tie one of his own fingers into the bowline knot. Moana smiles to herself, hopeful.

She waits for him to say something, to turn around and tease her, perhaps even kiss _her_ this time…but he doesn’t. In fact, in an uncharacteristic move, Maui goes to sit silently on the far side of the boat, his back to her. Moana blinks, baffled. The awkward tension on the little canoe is so thick she could cut it with a knife, and she frowns at the uncomfortable feeling.

She is Moana of Motunui, and she does _not_ back down from a challenge.

Moana secures her oar, and sets Kekoa down onto the winch, before marching over to where Maui sits and plops down next to him. He starts a little, eyes flickering towards her before looking pointedly away. His ears are bright red.

“Why are you acting weird?” she asks bluntly, leaning over to try and catch his eye. “Is it because I kissed you?”

“What? No!” Maui sputters indignantly, still not looking at her. “I’m not acting weird, you’re acting weird,” he retorts weakly. Moana doesn’t bother to return that with words, and simply raises a brow at him.

When Maui continues to be silent, glaring at the water, she softens. “Maui,” she begins gently, nudging his shoulder with hers, “talk to me. Is something wrong?”

Maui doesn’t say anything for a moment, before letting out a heavy sigh. “No, I’m fine, I’m just…not good at this stuff, I guess,” he admits, and Moana gets the feeling that the confession comes out about as easily as pulling teeth. For all his boasting and bluster, Moana thinks, Maui possesses an exceptionally tender heart.

She waits for him to continue. “Everything is so different now,” he murmurs eventually. “You being a demigod, and everything…but you’re still a chief, too.” He kicks at the ocean a little, sending up a spray. “It’s all just…complicated.”

Moana frowns at him, honestly confused. “I don’t understand what you mean,” she tells him candidly.

Maui growls in frustration, and his hands curl into fists in his lap. “I… _aue,_ I don’t know how to say it,” he mutters, clearly upset at his inability to convey his feelings.

Moana feels a chill fall over her. “Are you…did you not want me to kiss you?” she asks, dread pooling in her belly. Come to think of it, Maui never actually _said_ that he returned her feelings…

At that, Maui does turn to her and takes her hands in his, eyes wide. “No, Moana, of course I did,” he promises. “It’s just…you have a whole island waiting for you. I can’t...” He swallows, gathering himself. “I can’t ask you to _stay_ with me.”

Moana’s heart breaks at the confession, and she leans forward to press her nose against his in a _hongi_. “You don’t have to ask me anything, not right now,” she whispers, lips nearly brushing his. “For now let’s just… _be_ whatever we are, okay?” The words are horribly reckless, but Moana cannot find the will to stop them. Her heart just _wants._

Maui pulls back a little to look at her, his gaze searching. “Okay,” he allows. A pause. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice a little hesitant.

Moana grins cheekily at him. “I think the correct wording is _may_ I kiss you, O-Great-Chief Moana,” she quips, heart skipping a beat.

This time, Maui shuts _her_ up with a kiss.

After that, it’s…well, smooth sailing. They fall into the easy customs of adjusting the sheet, tinkering with the course, and so on. Maui moves to take over the controls as soon as Moana starts to blink a little slowly, a yawn making her jaw pop. She tries to wave him away, claiming, “I’m a wayfinder _and_ a demigod now, I don’t need,” another yawn, “sleep.”

“Uh-huh,” Maui agrees easily, picking her up and depositing her on the hull. “You saved the world, I think you’ve earned a nap.”

Moana glares blearily at him, suddenly exhausted from the day’s events. “You better watch it, buddy,” she warns, pointing at him with a threatening finger. “I’ll,” yawn, “smite you.” The hull suddenly looks so inviting…and being asleep sounds pretty damn good right now…

“Nah, you love me,” Maui retorts, leveling her with a smug look.

Moana curls up into a ball, cushioning her head with her arms. Her exhaustion-addled brain tries to devise a comeback and ends up managing, “Yeah, I guess so.”

She falls into a deep slumber, completely missing the way Maui fumbles the oar, his face bright red.

As she sleeps, Moana dreams of her island. Suddenly, she’s a child again, playing amongst the taro fields and chasing around the _pūkeko_ birds, laughing as they squawk and flutter away. Then she’s curled in her father’s arms, cheek pressed against his chest so his heartbeat may drown out the thunder that crashes outside. Then she’s sitting at her mother’s side, watching intently as the older woman expertly weaves coconut leaves into a basket and trying to memorize the motions. Then she’s on the shore, dancing to the lulling splash of the undertow as Gramma Tala laughs joyously beside her.

It’s…wonderful and excruciating all at once.

When Moana finally wakes, she blinks open to find three glowing eyes staring back at her from only inches away. “ _Agh!”_ she cries in surprise, shoving herself away from the startling sight. Kekoa peeps at her indignantly from his spot on the deck, apparently affronted at her less than welcoming reaction. She can hear Maui’s deep, knee-slapping belly-laughter from the stern, and she blows a strand of hair out of her face so she can glare at him.  _Rude._

Moana studiously ignores him, and reaches out to allow Kekoa to hop onto her palm instead. “Sorry, Kekoa,” she says, pressing her nose against his tiny snout in a _hongi_. “You surprised me!”

“I just can’t believe Slimeball came _back_ ,” Maui comments. “What is it with you and attracting dumb animals with a death-wish?”

Moana rolls her eyes. “I know. Truly, it’s a miracle the three of you still like me,” she deadpans, raising a brow at him.

Maui blinks at her, before comprehension of the barb sets in. He squints at her. “Touché,” he allows loftily. Suddenly, a mischievous gleam sparkles in his eye. “To be fair…these _puhi_ are pretty beastly.” Maui flexes his impressive biceps, taking on a rather swaggering pose. It emphasizes the bulging strength of this muscles, a sheen of sweat glistening over his tanned skin…and Moana is feeling a little overwhelmed for someone who just woke up.

The effect of Maui’s admittedly appealing display is negated, however, when Moana’s stomach growls loudly. She’d slept through dusk and the entire night, apparently—the sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon, sending lances of golden radiance over the surface of the ocean. It’s been over twenty hours since she last ate, _and_ she battled a god in the meantime; Moana feels like she could eat an island at this point.

As if cued, Maui’s belly also lets out its own rumble, and he frowns down at it, offended by the interruption. Moana turns her attentions to their cargo hold in the hull, and pulls out a few choice looking fruits—fresh from the island of Rangi and Papa.

“Do your _puhi_ eat coconuts?” Moana asks dryly, tossing a few at the demigod. Maui catches them easily, though he levels her with a flat glare. Regardless, he makes quick work of cracking the coconuts, handing half of them back to Moana.

The meat is tender and delicious, the water refreshing, and between the two of them they annihilate six decently-sized coconuts. Once finished, Moana pats her belly in satisfaction, leaning back to enjoy the early morning sun on her face. Though satiated, Moana can’t help but dream of her favorite dish, roasted _mukau_ fish. Apparently, defeating gods and saving the world really makes you crave protein.

“Those were good, but I would _kill_ for some _mukau_ right now,” Moana voices her thoughts with a sigh, lying all the way on her back. Maui can keep sailing for now, she decides. Her nap earlier was fitful at best, and a little snooze sounds pretty great right now…

Maui doesn’t answer, just makes a thoughtful hum as he dutifully returns to his spot at the stern. Moana lets her eyes fall shut, the warm sunlight like a balm on her sore muscles.

Though she’s exhausted, Moana doesn’t really sleep this time; rather she dozes, falling in and out of fuzzy wakefulness as the canoe bobs about on the ocean. Several hours pass, and eventually the sun begins its descent on the horizon. She dozed the entire day away!

A particularly rattling jerk of the boat jars Moana from her sleepy state, and she sits up, rubbing her eyes. Next to her, Kekoa peeps groggily, also woken by the sensation. He hops up onto her shoulder, hiding in her hair.

When Moana looks about to find the culprit, she finds…a gigantic pile of fish deposited on the hull next to her. Maui stands proudly above his spoils, grinning down at Moana.

“One order of _mukau_ for the non-princess,” he pronounces, flexing his biceps again for good measure. Moana blinks at him, unable to process the sight in her hazy state.

“Oh,” Moana mumbles, perplexed but grateful. Her gaze flickers between the pile of _mukau_ and Maui’s eager face until her brain actually comes online. She smiles at Maui, touched by the sweet gesture. “Thank you,” she says, but immediately regrets it when he gets a stupid grin on his face.

“You’re welcome!” he singsongs with a dramatic bow, and Moana rolls her eyes fondly. Maui is nothing if not predictable, sometimes.

Moana reaches out to inspect one of the _mukau_ , but halts when a spasm runs up her back, causing her to suck in a pained breath. She hadn’t thought about it until now, but perhaps stretching would have been a good idea after being knocked around by an ancient god. Maui is suddenly kneeling down next to her, a worried look on his face.

“You okay?” he asks, touching her shoulder gently.

Moana smiles reassuringly at him, a little flustered by the naked concern in his eyes. Not long ago she would have expected him to snort and tell her to rub some dirt on it and buck up, but here is acting all protective and bothered. Moana’s face flushes, and she can’t help the dopey grin on her face.

“I’m fine,” she tells him, but he continues to poke and prod at her fussily, looking for remaining injuries.

Maui squints at her, considering. “If only we had some coconut oil,” he mutters, and Moana blinks at the comment, genuinely surprised. She would have assumed that a demigod wouldn’t have a need for any sort of first aid experience. Perhaps not so predictable after all.

Maui straightens, his mouth pulled to one side in deep thought. “I wonder if I could make the oil just by crushing one,” he mumbles to himself, flexing his fingers. “Can’t be _too_ hard.”

Moana smiles at him affectionately and stands, stretching out her stiff muscles with a groan. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, stepping around the pile of fish. “I’m okay.” She puffs out her cheeks and flexes her biceps like Maui had done, hoping to get a chuckle out of him.

To her dismay, he just frowns, looking disappointed in himself. His sudden seriousness is baffling, until the pile of fish catches Moana’s eye and she realizes at once what Maui is thinking—and what he’s trying to do.

“Maui,” she begins, voice careful. “You don’t need to…impress me. Or try to win my approval.”

Maui’s eyes cut away from hers, clearly ashamed at being caught. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, voice cold.

Moana can almost hear his walls come crashing down as Maui pulls away from her, and pain lances her heart. She steps towards him, wanting to be close but wary of invading his space. When he doesn’t immediately jerk away, she moves closer again, and reaches up a tentative hand to rest on his cheek. He leans into the touch involuntarily, his gaze still trained on the deck.

“Maui, you don’t need to prove yourself to me,” she tells him, voice firm but gentle. “Or anyone. You are worthy of being loved just by being _you_.”

Finally, he looks at her, his eyes vulnerable. Moana smiles at him, before leaning up on her tiptoes so she may press a light kiss to his forehead. When she’s back on her heels, Maui is grinning a little shakily at her. “Can’t a guy try to win his lady’s favor?” he asks wryly.

“You have it,” she tells him simply. “You have _me.”_

Maui blinks at Moana, before pulling her into a crushing hug, lifting her off the deck. She wraps her arms around his neck, savoring his warmth and strength, and presses her nose into the crook of his neck. If given the choice, Moana wouldn’t mind staying in his arms forever.

Moana is beginning to wonder if she’ll ever muster the willpower to let go when a muffled chirp sounds from below her chin. _Huh?_

Moana pulls back just slightly to see Kekoa’s glowing head pop out from where her chest is pressed against Maui’s, and he looks a little bedraggled. The tiny spirit frog peeps again, as if to say, “ _Watch it!”_

Moana lets out a surprised bark of laughter at the sight while Maui groans, his head falling back in exasperation. He sets Moana back down onto her feet, his face turning red even under his tanned skin, and she levels him with a pleased grin. It’s nice to know he’s affected by their proximity as much as she is.

Before it can become awkward, Moana sets Kekoa down onto the winch and claps her hands together, saying, “Okay! I’ll take over wayfinding and you can skin some of those fish. Sound good?”

Maui salutes her, a lazy grin curling his mouth, evidently having already recovered from the earlier incident. Come to think of it, that’s an aspect of Maui that Moana admires—for all of his easily bruised ego, Maui is just as capable of bouncing back with a genuine smile on his face.

A comfortable silence falls over the canoe as they both set about their tasks. For Moana, being at the helm of the boat is like falling into a familiar dance—where the ocean pushes she falls back to counterbalance, when the wind is strong she shortens the sail, as the currents change she tilts her oar just so to stay on course.

Moana sighs happily, dipping a hand in the water to test the currents, before pulling it out to feel the bearing of the wind. The draft hits her palm, telling her it’s time for an adjustment. Her gaze flickers to her companion, but she pauses before the words leave her lips.

Maui is sitting on the hull, focused on his task of cleaning and gutting the _mukau_. He tosses the detritus into the sea (to the delight of a gathering crowd of gulls) and stores the fresh meat in the empty coconut husks from their earlier meal. The thing that catches her eye, however, is the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth as he concentrates. The adorable habit brings a grin to Moana’s face, and she feels her heart thump in her chest.

“We’re about to be upwind,” she tells him, grabbing the main line. “You might want to lay low for a while.” She snickers at her own pun.

“Perfect timing!” Maui declares, leaning over to stash the fish-filled coconuts into the cargo hold. He then flops down to lounge on the hull, his legs splayed over the outrigger and his arms folded behind his head. Most importantly, he’s out of the swinging range of the boom. “Have at it, curly.”

Moana rolls her eyes, and begins to trim the sail in order to begin the process of beating to windward. The breeze is strong, so she has to keep the boom trimmed inboard to avoid luffing while still managing a close-hauled position. She allows the boat to travel crosswind with a starboard tack like this for a few minutes, before adjusting the oar to begin turning. The canoe shifts windward, riding on its forward momentum, and when the time is right Moana sheets in the mainsail. The boom swings over the hull to the other side, achieving a port tack and cutting upwind in the other direction. She repeats this process every few minutes, accomplishing a zigzag course upwind as she switches between crosswind movements.

After the fourth round of beating, Maui raises a hand, pointing lazily to the sail. “You should spill some wind, you’re heeling too much on the starboard side,” he nags, though there’s not much feeling in his voice.

“If I didn’t have such a big _weight_ on my rigger I wouldn’t be heeling at all,” Moana snipes right back, not missing a beat.

“Excuses, excuses,” Maui sings, waving away her comment. “Also, you’re too close to the wind, you’re gonna start luffing.”

Moana glares at him. “ _Ugh,_ you are such a—a backseat wayfinder!” she accuses. The distraction causes her to trim the sail a little too tightly, pulling the canoe more windward than it should be; the airflow over the sailcloth is disrupted and it starts to flap loudly.

Moana groans as Maui chuckles at her, and she fights to ease the trim back into an optimal position. “That was your fault, you jerk,” she says without much heat.

Maui snorts. “A master wayfinder cops to her mistakes,” he chides, waving a reprimanding finger at her.

“I could drown you,” Moana warns, her eyes narrowing.

Maui yawns disinterestedly in response and falls quiet. His eyes flutter shut and his breathing is becoming slow, Moana realizes. Is she about to witness the great Maui _sleep?_

Sure enough, the demigod begins to snore. The noises are surprisingly soft for such a loud man. In fact, they’re almost delicate, which is so endearing Moana has to clamp a hand over her mouth to silence the love-struck whimper that threatens to escape. It takes several moments of waiting for her heart to slow before Moana can focus on sailing again.

Come to think of it, he’d been awake, sailing, for the last day and night without respite. He must be worn out, she notes, to fall asleep so quickly. Her stomach flips at the realization that he’d done it just so she could rest.

Luckily for Maui, the wind is beginning to change, and Moana figures she’s only got another half hour of beating before they’re downwind again. She hopes the smooth sailing makes for a more restful nap.

The sun is heavy as it sinks on the horizon, splashing the sky with brilliant reds and oranges, and the sparse clouds are lit with rich pinks and purples. Above it all, a blanket of the deepest blue begins to settle, freckled with winking stars. Next to her, Kekoa glimmers, as bright as any of them.

Though their sparkle is faint, Moana lifts a hand to measure the radiant flecks anyway—and realizes with a start that they’re not more than a day’s sailing away from reaching her home, Motuho’ou.

Her gaze slides back to Maui’s sleeping form, and her heart clenches at the sight of his face. The slopes of his cheekbones, the handsome cut of his jaw, the fullness of his lips…his eyelashes are actually quite long, and they cast fine shadows on his cheeks in the moonlight. He’s beautiful, she thinks.

And she loves him so much she can barely breathe with it.

But right next to where Maui has set up firm residence in her heart is Moana’s island and her people, utterly immovable. Moana’s tribe nurtured her—taught her the names and stories of her ancestors, gave her the gifts of fishing, weaving, dancing…they showed her how to be a leader, so she may in turn lift them to be stronger and more proud than ever before.

Moana’s very soul was built by her island; each day, each lesson, each friendship like a stone stacked upon another. How could she bear to leave them?

Moana wishes she could cry out, and she clutches at her chest though it does not soothe the ache. The pain in her heart is nearly overwhelming, and she’s thankful that Maui is asleep. The choice that looms ahead of her is more terrifying than any god she’s ever faced.

Just as Maui cannot ask Moana to leave her island, Moana cannot ask Maui to leave his immortality.

Maui is meant to be a demigod, she thinks. He thrives on adventure, on cheating death and accomplishing miraculous feats to the sound of cheers and adoration. He slays monsters, pulls up islands, saves the day—and not just for Moana. How selfish it would be, to take him from the rest of the world and keep him for herself.

Moana can’t look at him anymore, and instead focuses on letting the boom into a more outboard position. They’re fairly downwind now; enough that she can let the sail out to a beam reach, and she watches as it fills up satisfyingly with the draft. The strong breeze affords them a decent clip, and Moana can already tell they’ll make good headway tonight.

The open sea stretches in every direction to the horizon, starlight glinting off the waves as they ebb and flow. The moon, full and gleaming, hangs in the sky like a luminous pearl, casting a light onto Moana’s path home. Though her heart aches, the ocean is like a soothing balm, and with every crested wave the tightness in Moana’s chest seems to loosen, just slightly.

Hours pass and Moana falls into an almost meditative trance as she navigates the ocean. The push and pull of the waves are in synch with her heartbeat; her breathing is one with the wind. Kekoa has abandoned his spot on the winch in favor of sitting atop the mast; his glow makes it look as if a star leapt down from the sky to join Moana on her journey.

Before she knows it, the night has surrendered to the dawn as morning sunlight spills over the sea. The sky softens from inky darkness into blue, the clouds blushing with splendid pinks and muted yellows.

The night passed so quickly she hardly felt it, Moana realizes with a grimace. That is certainly a feature of divinity that she acutely dislikes; she had been taught to cherish every moment, to savor every sunrise and sunset. She can remember sitting next to Gramma Tala on the beach so many years ago, watching as her grandmother let the sun’s warm rays soothe her stiff muscles. Her grandmother had taken Moana’s hand, holding it out flat with her fingers outstretched.

“ _Try to catch the sand,”_ Gramma Tala murmured, releasing a handful onto Moana’s upturned palm. Moana tried, but no matter how she clenched her fist, the sand spilled out from her fingers, slipping away from her. If she held perfectly still, only a few grains escaped, but any lapse of attention cost her.

“ _Just like sand, time is fleeting,”_ Gramma Tala said, her voice gentle but deliberate. Moana stared up at her, feeling the sand run through her fingers. “ _It will pass by, no matter how tightly you cling to it. And you cannot get it back.”_

The grave words startled Moana, unused to such seriousness from her grandmother. Gramma Tala’s mouth then curled into an affectionate, knowing smile. “ _One day, you’ll be a creaky old lady like me,”_ she said wryly, reaching over to tickle Moana. Moana squealed happily, trying to curl away from her grandmother’s nimble hands.

_“So you must treasure it. Do not let a day go by that you are not grateful for.”_

Moana stares at her upturned palm now, considering. Immortality, huh. But at what cost?

A muffled snort breaks her attention, and she looks up to see Maui shift as he approaches wakefulness. He’d slept the night through, she realizes. He must have been exhausted.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Moana calls to him, watching in amusement as he rubs his eyes groggily and sits up.

“ _Aue,_ ” he mumbles, before yawning enormously. He looks around, noticing the sunrise, and she can tell that he hadn’t meant to sleep for so long. Secretly, she’s glad he did—for both his sake and for hers.

“You didn’t drown us while I slept, it’s a miracle,” he deadpans, standing up to stretch. Moana is so distracted by the way his muscles pull and flex, his sun-kissed skin made gold by the sunlight, that she forgets to respond to the jibe.

Blessedly, Maui doesn’t seem to notice her ogling, and instead he climbs up the mast to sight their course. Kekoa chirps at him to say hello and hops onto his head, which Maui manfully ignores, raising a hand to shadow his eyes from the bright dawn light.

Maui makes a noise of surprise. “We’re close,” he says, as if Moana wasn’t already aware of that. “Did you join a canoe-racing club while I was asleep?”

Moana chuckles at that, glad to see Maui in a cheerful mood. “Nah, just had fair winds,” she demurs. The breeze was so ideal that she’d been able to having running sails for almost half the night, though the resulting choppy waves made for some interesting steering.

Maui drops down onto the hull with a thump, Kekoa still sitting in his hair like a tiny glowing flower. To Moana’s surprise, rather than shaking him off, Maui simply grumbles halfheartedly at the creature and allows him to stay there. It’s _adorable_.

Maui crouches down to dig through the cargo hold, pulling out a few coconut husks. _The fish!_ Moana had entirely forgotten about them, and her stomach rumbles with anticipation of the tasty snack. Maui smirks at her before tossing her one.

The sea keeps the cargo bay cold, and so the fish is delightfully chilly and refreshing even after a long night. The _mukau_ is delicious and Moana devours her in just a few minutes. Wanting more, Moana makes grabby hands towards Maui, who laughs at the wordless demand. He obediently hands over another husk, and Moana proceeds to inhale all of the fish in that one too.

Moana _knows_ that Maui has a smug grin on his face without even looking at him, and she ignores him in favor of licking her fingers to clean them. However, an odd choking noise from the demigod has her glancing over, and she finds him pounding his chest with a fist, his face red.

She looks at him curiously, but he waves off her concern. “Went down the wrong tube,” he claims, avoiding her eyes. Kekoa, now on his shoulder, chirps in disbelief.

Moana doesn’t have the chance to dwell on that, however, as something over Maui’s shoulder catches her eye. “Land!” she crows happily, abandoning the steering post in order to clamber up the mast, stepping on Maui’s head for a boost. (In her defense, he has a tough skull. He’s a demigod!)

Indeed, on the horizon a tiny speck blinks into existence, just visible. Moana knows in her heart that the distant landmass is her home, and she can feel the ocean shiver in agreement around the canoe. “Motuho’ou,” she breathes, excitement tingling down her spine. Soon, she’ll be on her island, hugging her parents, home with her people.

Moana leaps down onto the deck, rushing over to let out the sail as much as possible. It billows open with the strong gust, and the canoe lurches forward into a run, cutting over the white-capped waves. Moana is so excited she can barely keep their course straight, and Maui laughs at her sloppy technique.

“Don’t wreck us on the reef,” he chuckles. “That would be a lame way to go, considering everything we’ve survived.”

Moana doesn’t respond, but she does rein in her enthusiasm a little—he’s got a point. She doesn’t want to mar their homecoming with a shipwreck. If nothing else, it would just be embarrassing.

The island of Motuho’ou grows with every minute, and Moana can actually make out the shapes of the familiar peaks and valleys. It’s mid-morning now, the village’s most active time—and Moana fully expects a crowd on the beach when they arrive. She hopes her parents’ faces are the first she sees.

The tide grows gentler as they near the reef, and the ocean shifts from dark cobalt into a bright turquoise in the shallower water. Soon enough, the _fales_ , the taro fields, the coconut groves all become discernible, and a smattering of figures on the shore tells Moana that their arrival has been noticed.

She’s _home._

 

**TBC**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEELINGS GALORE! Hope that was interesting to read and has you guys excited for the next installment. The sailing bits were very fun to research and write :) 
> 
> I wonder how Moana's people will react to her return...stay tuned to find out!
> 
> Mukau: sickle pomfret fish  
> Puhi: Hawaiian word for moray eel


	11. Like the Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who is still terrible at planning chapter numbers!! Me!!! But for real, yeah, I had to split this chapter because it was simply getting too long and I think this and the next piece would lose some of their impact if done together. So! Now TLOM has a total of 14 chapters. Yay?
> 
> As always, thank you for the kind words and kudos. You all make my day!
> 
> Beta'd by BadOctopus, who is The Best(™). 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

Moana doesn’t bother to shore the canoe, and rather takes to the beach in a dead sprint. She nearly stumbles in the low tide, but Moana doesn’t care—her only concern is running straight into her mother’s outstretched arms.

“ _Moana!”_ Sina cries as her daughter dashes over the sand, her voice breaking with pure joy. Moana all but tackles her mother into the surf, and in turn Sina holds Moana so tightly she can scarcely breathe, lifting her off the ground. “Moana,” she says again, this time a whisper. “You’re _alive.”_

Moana’s heart shatters at the words, and at once all of the guilt she had suppressed over the course of the trip comes rushing back, nearly choking her. “I’m so sorry,” she croaks into the crook of her mother’s neck. Around them, a crowd of villagers gathers, and a din of excitement begins to rise as the news spreads of Moana’s return.

Sina draws back to look over her daughter, cupping Moana’s face with both hands. Her eyes are wet with tears, a shaky, relieved smile on her lips. “We thought the ocean had taken you,” Sina tells Moana, her face darkening with the shadow of old grief. “Your father…”

Moana’s stomach drops to her feet at the words, and she realizes in horror that her father is nowhere to be seen on the beach. “Dad? Is he okay? _Where is he?”_ Moana can’t stop the panicked tumble of questions, her heart skipping beats in her chest.

“He’s out with a hunting party right now, but he’ll be back soon,” Sina informs her, and Moana sags with relief in her mother’s arms, reflexively drawing the woman into another tight hug. She missed them so much, and only seemed to be realizing it now.

“Your father was so _broken_ , Moana,” her mother tells her gravely. “He mourned for weeks. But we never gave up, Moana. We never stopped believing you would come back to us.”

Moana feels a fresh round of sobs start anew, and she clings to her mother, weeping into her chest. She feels like a child again, hysterical after a thunderstorm. Sina holds her close, stroking Moana’s hair and murmuring comforting words; she is a pillar of warmth and love. But a tremble in her mother’s hands belies the strength she exudes.

After everything…they waited for her.

A growing rumble of shouts and pounding feet from the village has them both looking up, revealing a group of men making their way down to the beach. At the front of the pack is Moana’s father, Chief Tui, and Moana can see the exact moment her father lays eyes on her. He abandons the spear and satchel in his arms, throwing them carelessly into the dirt as he begins to rush towards the surf. The young, athletic hunters behind him can’t keep up, as his love for his daughter quickens his stride.

When Tui finally reaches the shore, he sweeps both his daughter and his wife up into his arms, before dropping to his knees. Moana throws an arm around his neck, drawing both of her parents into a tight embrace. At last, she is warm and safe. It feels like _home._

“I thought we had lost you,” Tui murmurs, squeezing Moana once before pulling away to look at her. “You were gone for three months. Moana, where did you go?”

Moana falters, hazarding a glance over her shoulder. Maui has pulled the canoe ashore and is standing next to it, looking profoundly ill at ease and out of place. Some villagers around him peer at him curiously, though most seem to be focused on Moana and her parents. Moana wipes the tears from her eyes.

“It’s…a long story.”

Quickly, Moana and Maui are ushered into Chief Tui’s _fale_ and settled onto some _fala_ mats. Well, perhaps more accurately, Moana’s parents all but carry her into the _fale_ , unwilling to let go of their lost daughter for more than a few minutes—and Maui trails awkwardly behind.

Considering the thunderous expression on her father’s face, Moana surmises that he holds the conviction that Maui is the culprit here, and she quickly steps in to correct him. “Dad, it’s not his fault.”

Unthinkingly, she grasps Maui’s hand in her own as she recounts the events of her adventure, and completely misses the perceptive look it garners from her mother. Moana is able to describe most of the journey with a fair amount of ease, until she approaches the encounter with Tangaroa and begins to stumble over her words.

In lieu of explanation of her powers, Moana allows Ali’ikai to ignite in her hands, and water stored in a nearby gourd leaps into the air, dancing about the interior of the _fale_.

Her parents’ eyebrows had been steadily climbing over the duration of the account, but at that point they just about vanish into their hairlines. She does have to give them credit for a fairly unruffled reaction; Moana expected more disbelief and perhaps some awe. They smile proudly when she describes her showdown with Tāwhirimātea, their jaws drop when she recounts pulling up the new island, and they accept Kekoa’s glowing presence with only a small amount of uncertainty.

“And then Tāne made us a new canoe and we sailed back here,” Moana finishes simply, folding her hands in her lap. Her parents blink at her wordlessly, and Moana smiles back, feeling uncomfortable. Maui continues to be silent next to her though he squeezes her hand.

Sina and Tui share a concerned look, before turning back to Moana. “What does that mean, exactly? That you’re a…a demigod?” Sina asks, running a hand over Moana’s tattoos. She hopes Mini Moana stays still—her parents don’t need to be any more weirded out by the situation.

The question gives Moana pause. “I’m not actually sure,” she admits. “Tangaroa didn’t really give me any details.”

“Could you,” Sina begins, pausing to glance over at Maui. “Could you become human again?” The word _human_ is said with such tentativeness that Moana’s heart clenches.

Moana bites her lip, considering. Tāwhirimātea had certainly implied it was an option, and Tangaroa hadn’t contradicted his brother, so chances are a reversion is completely possible. She cannot help but ponder the consequences—could she die? Would there be residual effects? How disappointed would Tangaroa be, if she were to reject his gift of immortality and return to live as a human?

 _And Maui_ …Moana does not finish that thought. She _can’t_ , not right now.

“I think so,” Moana finally answers, voice quiet.

Sina studies her daughter, and Tui, brow furrowed and mouth in a thin line, appears to be untangling a complex thought of his own. Finally, her mother’s face breaks into a gentle, proud smile, though her eyes are somber. “Moana, we’re so proud of you,” she murmurs, reaching out to rest a hand on Moana’s cheek.

Moana leans into the touch, feeling hollowed out. Her heart, usually so steadfast and unmistakable in its desires, feels torn in two.

“We love you so much,” her father says. “And we will always love you, and support you, no matter what you choose.”

Moana wants to cry. To scream. To run straight out of this _fale_ and take to the sea in her canoe, and never think about this decision again. Instead, she unearths whatever scraps of poise and courage she has left, and whispers, “Okay.”

Tui reaches out to clasp the hand not engulfed in Maui’s giant paw, smiling gently at her. “For now, go see your people. They have missed you.”

“Okay,” Moana repeats, feeling like a parrot. Her next words are halting, as she’s not sure how to phrase the request. “For now, could we keep the whole _demigod_ thing a secret? Until I know what I’m going to do?” The idea of lying to her people—even if it’s lying by omission—makes Moana’s stomach churn, but she doesn’t know what else to do.

Moana’s heart cracks when her mother flinches at the implication that her choice may not be to stay.

However, her parents share a thoughtful look, before Tui nods. “That is probably wise,” he agrees. “Now go. Your mother and I will follow you shortly. We have a few matters to discuss.”

Moana nods, leaning over to exchange a _hongi_ with each of her parents, lingering to savor the warmth and comfort of their familiar scents. To her surprise, her mother reaches out to tug Maui into a _hongi_ as well, followed by her father. Tui lays a hand on Maui’s shoulder, addressing him with a grateful smile. “Thank you for staying by my daughter’s side,” he murmurs.

Maui can only nod, clearly at a loss for words at the unexpected gratitude.

When Moana stands, Maui rises next to her, a silent shadow. Her knees feel stiff, but the prospect of seeing her people—the faces she’d counted in her mind, again and again, to pass time on those chilly nights—gives her a burst of energy.  Her walk grows into a trot as she approaches the _pola_ fronds blocking the outside world, and she bursts through them with her arms thrown out. She pauses, momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight, and blinks to regain her vision. When it clears…

Her entire village stares back at her.

“You’re _home!”_ someone shouts, and after that cries of delight and relief fill the air, giving way to the sounds of utter jubilation. Moana rushes down to meet their open arms, receiving handshakes from the men and hugs from the village women, exchanging _hongi_ with the village elders, stooping down to sweep the children into her arms and press kisses to their soft cheeks. Every touch grounds her, filling a hole in her heart she hadn’t been aware of.

The commotion over her return lasts several minutes, and Moana does her best to field questions of her disappearance—she loathes lying to them, but perhaps the truth is more painful in this situation. Finally, the din of excitement dies down a little, and Moana can see the precise moment when her companion’s presence is detected.

“Is that…the demigod Maui?” a young village girl—Leilani, one of her best dance students—asks, pointing to him. Maui gives a tiny wave, unsure of his welcome.

There’s a beat, and Moana waits with bated breath for their reaction.

Suddenly, elation erupts from her people once more, and a horde of children rush the demigod, immediately clambering up his body like it’s a palm tree.

“ _Maui! It’s Maui!”_

“ _Maui’s back!”_

“ _Maui has returned!”_

Moana’s tribe surrounds the demigod in a heartbeat and they welcome him with as much love and familiarity as they welcomed Moana. He is pulled into hugs and _hongi,_ leis are thrown around his neck and the elder women pinch his cheeks and smack them with kisses. Moana laughs with relief and joy, amused by the dumbfounded look on Maui’s face as he receives the love of her people.

Kekoa, of course, is a hit with the kids—and Maui is now _extra_ cool in their eyes since the little frog was perched on his head. Kekoa takes it all like a champ, preening under the adoring attention of his new fans.

Eventually, Tui and Sina emerge from the _fale_ , smiling proudly as their daughter is welcomed home to the island. The happy expressions are belied, however, by the slight redness of their eyes, and Moana feels her own grin falter at the sight.

“We shall have a feast!” Tui declares to his village. “To celebrate the return of Moana, and her guest, the Great Maui.”

The proclamation is met with much cheering and excitement, and Moana sneaks a look at Maui to gauge his reaction. He still appears utterly stupefied, but there’s a joyful grin creeping at the corners of his mouth.

Quickly, the village sets to work on preparing the banquet. _Imu_ ovens are freshly dug, fires are stoked, the fishermen rush off to collect their traps, and the children are tasked with laying out huge banana leaves on which to place the bounty. Coconuts are husked and mangos are peeled, their succulent meats laid among dishes of steamed chicken, fresh _poke_ , and to Moana’s delight, roasted _mukau_ fish.

Moana, unable to sit by while her people work, joins a few village women in wrapping taro roots in _ti_ leaves, while Maui is roped into climbing palm trees to collect coconuts. Moana falls into the familiar routine effortlessly, and she notes with pride how easily Maui interacts with her people, laughing and joking with them like he’s their brother. It suits him, she thinks.

Moana allows herself to be swept into the productive whirl of activity, never allowing her thoughts to wander past the task at hand. Far too quickly, it seems, the sun begins to hang low on the horizon, the sky blazing with colors found in the heart of a fire. The clouds are brushed with dusky pinks and fiery oranges, lighting everything on the island of Motuho’ou in a golden hue.

Moana works beside her mother now, weaving coconut leaves into a basket like she has done hundreds of times before. Her gaze wanders to Sina’s nimble hands, feeling a familiar envy bubble in her chest. Moana recalls watching her mother perform the task as a child, awed by her deft and precise movements, and vowed to one day be as skillful. It seems though, that no matter how much Moana practices, her mother is always quicker, her plaits always tighter.

Sina grins at her. “One day you’ll catch up to me,” she says, correctly interpreting Moana’s expression.

Moana harrumphs, and doesn’t even take notice of the potent words. _One day._

Finally, preparations are complete, and the feast is ready to commence. Moana sits next to Maui, just as she had done ten years ago at the banquet to celebrate the new island. Only this time, in the dancing light of the fire, amidst the heat and smoke, his presence is nearly electrifying. Unable to resist, Moana sways toward him, drawn by his warmth and his scent. She wishes she could kiss him.

Across from Moana, Sina watches her daughter with a knowing look, a wistful smile curling her lips.

The banquet is raucous and joyful, and the evening air is alive with chatter and the clatter of wooden dishes. Moana’s people laugh and sing as the canopy of stars twinkles above, the swollen moon smiling down upon them. Moana eats and drinks until she feels fit to burst, reveling in the happiness of her people. Beside her, Maui does the same.

Hours pass in exuberant celebration, eventually slowing to a low hum of contentment as the children and elders turn in for the night. Moana and Maui remain, along with her parents, enlivened by the festivities and happy to stay well into the night. Later still, the rest of the villagers return home to rest, as tomorrow promises another day of busy island life.

Finally the beckon of soft bedding and a warm _fale_ proves too great for Moana as well, and she stands to her feet. “I’m going to bed,” she says around a yawn. “Maui, I’ll show you to the guest _fale_ if you’d like.”

Maui rises, jaw popping with a yawn of his own. “Lead the way, curly.”

Moana pauses as she passes her parents, who also seem to be wrapping up for the evening. She leans down to press kisses to their foreheads. “I’ll be home in a little bit,” she tells them, straightening.

Sina raises a brow, fixing her skirts as she stands. “Don’t be too long,” she chides with a grin, and Moana nods, feeling sixteen all over again.

Moana tugs Maui away, setting off for the _fale_ designated for guests of the chief. It’s not as big as her family’s home, but quite luxurious with plenty of high-quality _tapa_ mats and its own fire pit. They walk in silence to the _fale,_ hand in hand.

When they reach their destination, Moana turns to Maui, stepping close to him. He gazes down at her, a grin tugging his mouth and affection in his eyes. Boldly, Moana stands on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.

Maui returns the gentle kiss, lifting a hand to rest on her cheek. Moana savors the sensation of his lips against hers, the tenderness of his touch. When she finally pulls away, Moana is dizzy with the roar of affection she feels for the man in front of her.

“Goodnight, Maui,” she murmurs.

His hand falls slowly from her face as she steps back. “Goodnight, Moana.”

Moana walks backwards for a few strides, unable to look away from Maui. She feels a little ridiculous, and she’s certain there’s a dopey, love-struck grin on her face, but Moana doesn’t care. Finally, she turns and scurries away—only to run smack into a palm tree.

“Oh! Sorry, didn’t see you there,” she apologizes, patting the trunk, even though it’s a tree and therefore does not care. She glances back at Maui, who is watching her in amusement. Moana feels her ears burn. “Okay, bye!”

Moana’s parents are waiting for her when she arrives, and she draws them each into a long hug before they bid their goodnights. When Moana brushes past the _tapa_ mat partitioning off her sleeping area, she realizes with a jolt that her bedding is just as she had left it all those months ago.

They had kept it for her, hopeful for her return.

Moana’s heart is heavy as she lays down to rest, and she falls asleep to the familiar, lulling sounds of her father’s soft snores.

It is not restful. Her dreams are a sprawling jumble of old memories and new, of playing on the beaches of Motunui and of whipping up whirlpools with her own hands. When Moana wakes to the calls of _manutara_ birds and the bustle of village life, she feels as though she hadn’t slept at all.

Moana sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and glancing around. From the light peeking in from the _pola_ , it looks to be about midmorning. It’s strange to sleep so late—typically, Moana would rise with the dawn so as to start the day helping her people as much as possible. She also finds a washbasin and gourd full of fresh water left near her bedding, and nearly cries with joy. Moana _adores_ being at sea, but her skin is itchy with sea salt and she has sand in places she doesn’t even want to think about.

Moana strips and washes herself with practiced efficiency, scrubbing off dirt and smears of dried blood (Hers? Tangaroa’s? Either way, _ew)._ Once finished, she dresses herself in fresh clothing. The clean _tapa_ feels gloriously soft against her skin.

When Moana steps outside into the warm sunlight, it’s like nothing had changed. The people of Motuho’ou are hard at work, weaving baskets and beating _tapa_ , collecting coconuts and tending to the groves. Inhaling, Moana can scent the familiar aromas of freshly burning coals and baking taro root. The combined sensations feel like an old friend drawing her into a hug.

Moana allows herself a few moments to observe her village and enjoy the sun on her skin, before setting off to find Maui. His nighttime habits are still a bit mysterious, and she wonders if he even slept at all.

Moana finds him in a grove of banyan trees, surrounded by village children. He’s animatedly telling the story of how he wrangled the sun in order to gift mankind with longer days, jumping and leaping about as he reenacts the legend. Moana leans against the wide trunk of a banyan tree, a smile on her face, content to watch Maui’s antics. Her presence doesn’t go unnoticed for long, however, and soon someone cries, “It’s Moana!”

The heads of the children swivel as one towards her, and Moana offers them a wave and a grin. Leilani rushes forward, wrapping her arms around Moana’s waist and clinging tightly. “We missed you!” she proclaims. “Miss Toleafoa is an okay dance teacher but she’s not as fun as you!”

Moana lifts the seven-year-old up, resting her on her hip. Leilani, though petite in nature, is almost too big for such a thing now, which is astonishing. It seems like just yesterday she was waddling around in diapers.

“I missed you too,” Moana tells her, pressing her nose against the child’s. “Look at you! Growing like a weed! Did you practice your _kaholo_ step while I was away?”

Leilani nods eagerly, scrambling out Moana’s arms so she can show off the move. With a look of deep concentration, Leilani performs the sliding step motion, moving gracefully. Moana claps her hands, pride blooming in her chest. “Well done!”

After that, the children tumble over themselves trying to demonstrate their improved dancing skills. Maui, now at Moana’s side, laughs and claps along with her as they enjoy the adorable display. Maui is being goaded into a _hula_ session with kids the when suddenly…

“ _Ba-GAWK!”_

The enthusiastic squawk startles Moana, though she immediately recognizes the source.

“Drumstick?” Maui gapes, staring with wide eyes at the chicken. Hei-Hei stands at the edge of the grove, a trail of baby chicks behind him. “You’re still alive!”

To Moana’s genuine surprise, Hei-Hei rushes Maui, and runs straight into his leg, bouncing off. He clucks in confusion, glancing around wildly. Evidently, he hadn’t changed at all in the last three months, either. Maui reaches down to pick up the chicken as the village children coo over the chicks, and holds the aging bird in his massive palm.

“Incredible,” Maui marvels, shaking his head in disbelief. “Truly, you are a miracle with wings.”

They return Hei-Hei to his coop (and his chicks to their worried mother), and send off the children to play with kites or to fishing lessons in the lagoon. Now alone, Moana turns to her companion with a shy smile on her face. “How about I show you around?” she offers. Maui saw the island a decade ago, when it was just the bare bones of a village. Now, it is bountiful and thriving—and she wants to show him just how beautiful it is.

“Lead on, O Great Chief.”

Moana shows him everything—not a scant inch of the village is left out of her tour. She takes him to the new taro and banana fields down by the river, brings him upslope to the plantains and manioc. She shows him the _fales_ of the villagers, and how they grow breadfruit in the shade around the homes. She walks him along the shores, pointing out the most choice spots for trapping lobsters and the cays with the most clams. Kekoa, who had been hitching a ride on Moana’s shoulder, scampers off to explore the island’s large waterfall when they pass it. The _fale va’a_ is next, and it is with great pride that she tours him among the new canoes and catamarans.

Finally, once there’s nary a leaf on the island he hasn’t witnessed, they halt in a grove of coconut palms. Part of Moana wishes they could stay here in the cool shade and relax, but the rest of her itches to go to work. Moana was raised to believe that chiefs do not ascend on the backs of their people, and rather lift the village alongside them. It does not matter that Moana’s future with Motuho’ou is ambiguous; she will lend her hand and do her part, just like any other day.

“C’mon,” she beckons, heading towards the village again. Moana noticed a _fale_ being constructed on their first loop around the island, and she reckons they could use Maui’s strength in hauling the beams.

Maui grumbles as she shoves him towards the laboring village men ( _Itu,_ _Kaēwe_ _, ‘Alohi, and Hiapo_ , she remembers counting their faces on the canoe) but there’s no feeling in it. Moana thinks that he secretly loves the work, and not just because of the awe he inspires with feats of strength. To the sound of applause, Maui smirks and preens. But when he receives jovial, brotherly affection from Moana’s tribesmen as he labors alongside them, he smiles a secret smile, a happy grin that shines like the sun. Moana can already see it curling his lips as Kahale, the head carpenter of the village, slaps Maui on the back and welcomes him to the endeavor.

Moana trots away, humming contentedly and keen to find some work of her own. She ends up joining a few villagers— _Manu, Lehiwa, Alani, and Haunui—_ in shredding bark of the _hau_ tree. Moana strips the branches using a sharp wooden knife, pulling off long strands of bark. The work is hard, and takes a lot of concentration in order to achieve even strips and not take her own finger off, but it’s rewarding, and the villagers fill her in on the gossip she missed over the last few months.

Once the bark is stripped, she helps put it into basins full of seawater where it will be soaked for three weeks, whereupon it will be soaked in freshwater and cleaned, and then hung out to dry. The soft fibers will be made into skirts and other items, and Moana feels happy knowing her work will clothe the people of her tribe.

The labor continues into the evening, and soon the sun begins to sink behind the horizon. After cleaning up the work area and saying goodnight to the women, Moana sets off to locate Maui with the intentions of inviting him to dinner with her parents. However, she finds him sitting around a fire with Kahale and the other workmen, laughing over pork and fresh coconuts. He looks so at ease with them…like he belongs. Moana smiles, and slips away without a word.

She ends up having supper with her parents and a few elders ( _Hoku, Kaiki, and Hina_ ), and it’s exactly what she needs. Moana is content to sit quietly and eat, listening to the elders as they tell stories of her ancestors, even though she knows the tales by heart. She sits nestled between her mother and father, enjoying their closeness.

Eventually, eyelids begin drooping and yawns fill the air, signaling that it’s time to turn in for the night. Dodging a questioning glance from her mother, Moana scampers off to the guest _fale,_ and is happy to find Maui loitering outside of it. She grins, knowing he was waiting for her.

Moana doesn’t bother to say anything, and simply pulls Maui into a warm kiss. It is slow and soft and comforting in ways she cannot describe; his large hands settle on her waist like five-pointed brands, burning against her through the fabric of her clothing. Moana tangles her hands in his thick hair, pressing close until there’s no space between them and she can feel the beat of his heart against her own.

When they draw apart, Moana allows herself to linger in his arms, savoring his proximity. “See you tomorrow,” she says softly, letting her hands skate over his chest as she pulls away.

Maui smirks at her, though his cheeks are dark even in the moonlight. “See ya, curly.”

This time, Moana avoids the palm tree…only to trip over a rock. She ignores Maui’s following laughter, and rushes home.

And so it goes for two days. Moana rises, now with the sun, and sets to work with the people of her village. She fishes, weaves, builds, gathers, and kisses Maui goodnight—all while avoiding the increasingly pointed gazes of her parents. It’s irresponsible, she knows. Borderline cruel, even. Dangling her commitment in front of her parents like a fishing lure, capable of snatching it away at any second. Moana ignores the niggling feeling that what she’s doing is deeply, deeply wrong. For the record, her sleep is still fitful.

On the evening of the third day, as the sun tips from its high cradle, Moana has once again opted to dine with her parents (Maui eats with the fishermen this time) and she’s settling down onto a _fala_ mat when she feels eyes on her. She looks up from her bowl of cooked coconut to find them gazing at her intently, and they don’t look happy. Suddenly, Moana is very glad they’re alone in their _fale_.

“Moana,” her mother begins, voice exceedingly gentle, “We’re so thankful that you’re alive, and that you have returned to us. We missed you more than you could know.”

Sina takes her daughter’s hands, holding them tight. “But you are so clearly torn,” she continues, and Moana’s heart twists with pain. “And as much as we want you to stay…we cannot ask you to. But your people mourned your loss as much as us.”

Moana feels dread pooling coldly in her belly. Her parents’ expressions are that of utter misery, and Moana knows they are as loathe to have this conversation as she. Sina looks to her husband for the strength to summon her next words, and he smiles at her, eyes wet.

“They have the right to know.” Sina’s voice grows shakier and shakier, and her hands tremble as they hold Moana’s. “If you’re going to...” Her mother pauses, swallowing. “If you’re going to leave, they deserve to know.”

Moana feels hollowed out. Something in her chest bows, brittle and trembling, and breaks; she feels her spine curving to mirror it. The fire in her heart, the one that burned and burned as she journeyed across the world and faced down enemies more ancient than time itself, the one that lit her path to find her heritage, the one that blazed as she heeded the call of her ancestors…is nothing more than an ember now, flickering weakly in the shadows.

Moana feels as though she has failed. Failed her island for keeping the truth from them, and failed herself for believing she could live this lie. She selfishly allowed her people to believe she returned for good, secretly harboring the knowledge that she may leave again, this time _forever_. Moana feels sick.

Somewhere, she finds the courage to speak. “I know,” Moana whispers brokenly. She must decide, she realizes.

_Tonight._

Determination grows in her chest like a flower blooming, petals unfurling in the light of this revelation. “I know,” she says again, this time stronger.

She looks up from her hands, and into the eyes of her parents. Her father’s eyes are wet and tears stream down her mother’s cheeks, and Moana feels her heart, already in pieces, shatter anew.

Moana needs guidance, and there’s only one place she can get it. “I need to…think,” she says, hesitant to use the word _leave_. “I’ll be back by tomorrow morning, I promise. I _promise.”_

Tui nods. “We understand.”

Moana rises to her feet shakily, feeling like a battered sail in a storm. She turns to exit the _fale_ , unable to come up with any parting words that could fit the miserable atmosphere.

“Moana,” her father calls from behind her, and she pauses. “We will always love you. Remember that.”

Moana clenches her fists, unable to turn and meet their eyes again. “I know,” she murmurs, and leaves.

She heads straight for the water.

Having grown up the chief’s daughter—and therefore often being the subject of much attention—Moana is quite skilled at skirting amongst the shadows so as not to be noticed. She does this now, flitting between the coconut palms to avoid any encounters with villagers.

Finally, she reaches the shore. Her canoe is moored on the sand; the sails are rolled and tied up and the hull has been covered in a protective mat. Moana certainly hadn’t thought to do that upon her return, which means her village must have done it. Her eyes burn at the gesture, simple as it is. This is just how Moana’s people _are_ —they look out for and take care of one another. It’s simply in their blood.

Moana has let out the sail, and is preparing to push her canoe towards the water when the sound of heavy feet moving through sand catches her attention. She doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

“If you wanted to elope, you should’ve just said so, curly.”

Moana spins to face Maui, grinning wryly though her heart aches. She can always count on him to break the tension with some dorky comment.

She walks to stand close to Maui, looking up into his kind eyes as she gives him a teary smile. “It’s time for me to choose,” she murmurs, even though she still feels utterly divided.

Maui just grins down at her. “Don’t think too hard about it,” he responds easily, reaching up to smooth the crease between her brows. “Or your face will get stuck this way.”

“Maui…”

Suddenly, he sobers, letting his hand shift to rest on Moana’s cheek. She leans into the touch. “I’ll follow you wherever you go, Moana,” he utters, voice low. “Just lead the way.”

Moana can hold back her tears no longer. She jumps to wrap her arms around Maui’s neck, and his own circle her waist in a close embrace. She presses her nose against his neck, and draws strength from his warmth. Maui tightens his arms around her, squeezing, before setting Moana down onto her feet.

Like the waves pitching a canoe to and fro, Moana feels her heart pulled in two different directions.

“Go,” he tells her. “Go find your destiny.”

Moana chokes out a laugh, wiping her eyes. “You _sap_.” She stands on her tiptoes and tangles her hands in his soft hair, drawing him into a desperate kiss. “Thank you,” she whispers against his lips.

With one last lingering touch, Moana slips away. She turns to her canoe, digging her feet into the soft sand to ground herself. With a shove of the stern, she takes to the sea.

Moana doesn’t look back.

 

**TBC**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feelings galore! And guess what...even more feelings next time! 
> 
> Fala mats: Samoan floormats made from pandanus leaves  
> Pola: a sort of Venetian-blind like mat made from coconut tree fronds plaited together, hung from the edge of the fale for privacy (and can be rolled up)
> 
> Reviews are always loved :)


	12. Under the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the story continues...what happens in this chapter, you ask? Ch-ch-ch-changes, and lots of 'em.
> 
> Some of you will love me, some of you will hate me. Either way, I'm happy and proud of this chapter, and I really hope you all enjoy reading it. As always, comments are loved dearly and fuel my soul now that classes have started again.
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely BadOctopus who has the first part of a new story out called Ho'onanea, and it is utterly beautiful and you all need to go read it. Now!
> 
> Enjoy! (PS, there are references to 3 different Disney movies and one non-Disney musical in this chapter. A quick sketch reward for the first person who finds them all!)

The ocean is quiet.

Moana plunges her oar into the sea, pushing the boat forward, and with a tug of the sheet, unfurls the sail completely. It catches a breeze, albeit small, and she’s on her way to leave the reef.

The moon throws shards of light onto the waves, and they dance across the surface with the wind. The sky stretches endless above her, and the sea stretches endless below her. The canopy of stars seems close enough to touch, freckling the dark heavens with glittery light.

Moana ties the sheet to the winch, and removes Ali’ikai from the water. She lets the current pull her where it may, trusting that the ocean will take her to where she must go. The sounds of the waves splashing against the boat and the wind rustling the sails soothe Moana, allowing her to breathe easily again.

Soon enough, the air shivers with _more_ and something bumps Moana’s canoe, leaving a shimmering trail in its wake. Moana smiles as she recognizes the familiar form.

The spectral manta ray makes a lazy loop around the hull, creating an entire galaxy of light under the boat. Moana watches as it fades, and instead a glow ignites in her peripheral, and she turns her head to see her grandmother sitting on the bow.

“Look!” Gramma Tala crows, wiggling her fingers. “Opposable thumbs!”

Moana laughs, and scrambles to the other end of the canoe so she can draw her grandmother into a hug. In this form, Gramma Tala is still solid, but somehow softer, like she’s made out of sand.

“Hi, Gramma,” Moana greets as she pulls away, settling in to sit across from the older woman.

“Hello, Moana,” she returns, tapping Moana on the nose with one shimmery finger, making her granddaughter laugh. “Now, it seems we have a lot to discuss.”

Moana feels the smile fall from her lips, and her shoulders slump. “Gramma…” Moana trails off, unsure how to even begin. She looks down at her hands; they curl into fists. “I don’t know what to do. How can I _choose?”_

Gramma Tala frowns understandingly at Moana. She reaches out to tip up Moana’s chin, raising her gaze. “You must listen to your heart, Moana. But know that no matter where you go and what you choose, I will be with you.”

Moana manages a teary smile at the kind words, though it doesn’t last long. “My heart?” Moana looks towards the sea. It remains silent and motionless—no call to be heard. Moana lets out a shuddery sigh. “My heart doesn’t _know_. I love Maui. I love him. I want to be with him, so much. I want to kiss him and marry him and wake up next to him,” Moana admits, voice growing with the beat of her heart. “I just _want_ him.”

Gramma Tala blinks at Moana, before releasing long breath. “You’ve got it bad, kiddo!”

Moana pulls her hair over her shoulder so she can fiddle with it, twisting and tugging on the thick strands. “But I can’t leave my island—my _people_ —for him,” Moana continues. “He wouldn’t…he wouldn’t want me to.” She doesn’t realize the truth to those words until they leave her mouth, and she feels stunned by the revelation.

Moana swallows, forging on. “They raised me. They made me who I am.”

Gramma Tala takes Moana’s hand. “And who is that? Who are you, Moana?”

That gives her pause. “I…”

Moana thinks of the powerful _mana_ that runs through her veins, the thrill of whipping a whirlpool into existence with her own hands. She thinks of the great responsibly laid upon her shoulders, and the potential to _create_ , like the island of Rangi and Papa.

And then she thinks of Maui. Like a seed dropped by a seabird onto a distant island, like a canoe pulled from its course by a strong wind…Maui changed Moana. His presence in her life had rewritten her future, and Moana wonders how different she would be if she had never met him. Would she be as fearless?

Moana thinks of Maui’s loud laugh and his quiet smiles, just for her. She thinks of spending forever with him.

Now, Moana thinks of growing up on the island of Motunui, of what it meant to be part of a tribe. How her father showed her how to walk tall with pride and how to be wise, and from her mother she learned kindness and patience. Her grandfather taught Moana how to fish from the ocean, and her grandmother taught her how to dance with it.

Moana can recall looking across the shore, imagining her own children playing in the surf. She would teach them to sail, to respect nature and their elders; she would show them how to string a cowrie shell lure and how to read the stars and currents. She would take them to the water, and show them that the ocean was a friend. One day, she would pass along the abalone shell necklace that Tala had given her, and watch with pride as the legacy of her ancestors was carried on by a new generation.

But Moana cannot have both. She cannot _be_ both.

_Who is she?_

“I…I don’t know,” Moana admits miserably. She feels like a stranger in her own skin.

Gramma Tala lets out a somber sigh. “Moana,” she says, voice gentle but unyielding. “Look there, in the water. What do you see?” She gestures to the surface of the ocean.

Moana shifts to face the water, leaning over the edge of the canoe. Her own face stares back up at her, misery and heartbreak clear in the lines of her features. She waits, but the ocean yields no wisdom. Moana shrugs. “Just my reflection.”

Tala’s head shakes in Moana’s peripheral vision. “No…look _harder.”_

Moana sighs, glaring at the surface. Her reflection glowers right back. “I see a woman,” she begins. “A woman who doesn’t know what she wants. A woman who _lies_ to herself to keep herself happy.” She ticks each thing off sourly, watching as the crease between her brows grows deeper and deeper. “A woman who has become a master wayfinder and somehow still got lost along the way.”

There’s a pause, and Moana is about to continue when something hits her square in the back and knocks her off the canoe. She hits the water with a tremendous splash, flailing.

Moana spits out seawater as she surfaces. “Hey!” she cries, whirling back to face the boat. Her grandmother is laughing at her, shoulders shaking with mirth. “What was that for?!”

Tala continues to laugh, unperturbed by her granddaughter’s ire. “I may be dead, but my sense of humor isn’t,” she quips.

“ _Gramma_ ,” Moana groans, before dunking her head under the water. When Moana surfaces, she doesn’t yet get back on the canoe, and instead floats on her back, enjoying the cool water. The ocean seems to embrace Moana, comforting her in the only way it can.

Moana continues to drift, gazing up at the sky and tracing the constellations with her eyes. Under the stars, she feels... _small_. It’s not a bad feeling, just…like there’s a whole world out there to explore. She lifts a hand to measure the sparkling flecks, her wrist turning to the right angle on its own accord.

“Look inside yourself, Moana,” she can hear Gramma Tala’s voice waft from the canoe, and Moana peddles her feet so she doesn’t go too far. “Don’t you see? You are _more_ than what you have become.”

Moana remembers the conversation she shared with her grandmother just a few short days ago, deep in the ocean depths of Tāwhirimātea’s island. She flips her hand to inspect her palm, and once again the lines of her life reflect back at her, memories sketched into her skin.

Moana’s head feels…clearer now, as if the ocean water had washed away the clouds that shadowed her heart and tangled her mind.

“Who are you, Moana?” Gramma Tala asks again.

Moana closes her eyes, and focuses on her heartbeat. _Thud, thud, thud,_ it goes, steady and calm. She opens her mouth, and allows words to spill out without thinking about them. “I am a daughter,” she begins, kicking her feet in the chilly seawater. “I am a leader. I am a wayfinder who is called by the sea and I voyage alongside my ancestors.”

The words rise straight from Moana’s heart and into her throat, unbidden and unstoppable, like a stream cutting through mountain boulders.

“I am Moana, Chief of Motunui.”

Moana’s eyes snap open as the affirmation leaves her lips. Her heart, which until that moment felt like it was being torn in two…settles. That fire in her chest, no longer battered by the winds of change and uncertainty, burns again, brighter than ever.

Moana looks over to see Gramma Tala peering at her over the edge of the canoe. “You see?” Tala asks, holding out a hand for Moana to grasp. “You may draw strength from those who need you.”

Moana clambers back onto the boat, grateful for the boost from her grandmother. The moon swings low in the heavens now, and it’s as if she has lowered a hand to trace the surface of the gentle waves, leaving cascades ripples of silver light. Moana cannot help but gaze at the beautiful sight as she wrings the seawater from her hair.

“ _Amuia le masina, e alu ma toe sau,”_ Gramma Tala murmurs, following her eyes. “Fortunate is the moon, to go and then return.”

Moana blinks at her. “Gramma?”

“The moon may come back after she sets,” Tala continues, turning to meet Moana’s eyes. “We may only pass through this life one time.”

“Gramma…”

“Then again,” Tala muses, a twinkle in her eye. “How fortunate are we, to have lived at all?”

Moana feels a smile curl her lips, and tears threaten to gather in her eyes. Somehow, her grandmother’s words always manage to soothe her. Moana shifts over to bump her shoulder against Gramma Tala’s, grateful for her presence.

“Besides, whatever crabby old fart came up with that didn’t take _this_ into account,” Gramma Tala remarks, reaching over her shoulder to pat the tattoo on her back. “Joke’s on them!”

Moana laughs aloud at that, feeling the words chase away any creeping chills of doubt. “Thank you, Gramma,” she murmurs, leaning to press her forehead against her grandmother’s. “For always reminding me that in my heart, I know the way. I love you, Gramma.”

Tala smiles at Moana, pride glowing in the lines of her face. “I love you too. See you out there, Moana.”

Suddenly, the wind kicks up, rattling the boom and rustling the sails, causing Moana to turn her head in surprise. When she looks back, Gramma Tala is gone, only a faint shimmer left in her wake. A wry smile quirks Moana’s lips. She should have known her grandmother would be a fan of the dramatic exit.

Knowing now what she must do, Moana stands and makes her way over to the stern, retrieving Ali’ikai from where it sits on the hull. She steps onto the aft-most part of the canoe and holds the oar in front of her. The inscriptions ignite, blazing brilliantly, and she lowers the blade to touch the surface of the water.

A pulse resonates over the ocean, sending a shiver up Moana’s spine. A few heartbeats pass, when suddenly the sea before the canoe begins to tremble. Bubbles break the softly rippling water, and finally the huge, grey snout of Tangaroa surfaces. Moana smiles to herself, remembering Tāwhirimātea’s words—he really must be fond of this form, she thinks.

The water runs off Tangaroa’s stippled skin, creating whirls of foam as it streams, until the crown of his great head has cleared the water and she can see his kind eyes. With a great _wooshing_ noise, Tangaroa clears his blowhole, sending a fine mist showering over Moana and her canoe. It feels like a greeting.

“Good evening, child,” Tangaroa murmurs in that sonorous, booming voice of his. “It is good to see you again.”

Moana nods, smiling down at him. “And you, Tangaroa. Thank you for coming.”

Tangaroa hums, and she can see his tail break the surface, before slapping back down. Her canoe rocks with from the waves. “You are most welcome,” he rumbles sincerely, his tone warm. “Now, what do you have to tell me?”

Moana kneels on the stern, holding the now quiet Ali’ikai close to her chest. She suspects that Tangaroa, ineffable in his wisdom, already knows what she is about to tell him, and she is grateful that he’s giving her the chance to say the words herself.

Moana offers the oar, allowing it to rest flat on her palms. “Thank you, Tangaroa, for choosing me,” she begins in a soft voice. “For believing in me when I could not believe in myself. Thank you for giving me the chance to do incredible… _impossible_ things.” The power she felt in fingertips, the exhilaration of on walking on water is still fresh in her mind.

Moana straightens her shoulders, feeling calm. “But I am Moana of Motunui. I _am_ Motunui.”

Tangaroa hums again, sounding content, as if he had anticipated this of her, and wholeheartedly agrees.

“And I must return to my people. Not as a demigod, but as a human, so I may walk alongside them.” Moana’s hands tremble underneath her oar, though not out of sadness or fear. The words bubbling up from her throat are simply so blazing, so bright in their truth that it shakes her. Moana pauses, allowing her heartbeat to slow.

“The call of the ocean may come from my heart, but my island _is_ my heart.”

Moana holds out the oar, waiting.

Tangaroa blinks, slowly, and slaps his tail again. The wood underneath Moana’s knees bobs, but she stays steady. “I understand,” he murmurs. He sounds proud. “There is a spark within you unlike any other, Moana. Protect it.”

His snout lifts from the water, just enough so that it may lightly brush the pole of the oar. At once, the inscriptions light up, and the ocean around the canoe leaps into the air in great, glowing tendrils. Moana is lifted off the canoe, and the water swirls around her, whipping her hair and clothes into a glorious frenzy. _Mana_ floods Moana’s body, as if a dam had been broken and an ancient river came crashing forth. To her surprise, more ink suddenly flickers into existence on her body, filling the gaps on her arms and darkening the skin of her chest. Then, it’s as if the wind changes, and everything is thrown into reverse.  She can feel the _mana_ leave her veins in waves as the glittery, radiant fountains gambol around her in glimmering streams; it flows from her fingertips and into the oar, where it will be sealed forever.

Finally, the whirling slows, the dancing water calms, and Moana is gently lowered back onto the canoe. Her entire body trembles like a leaf in the wind, and Moana feels…not empty, but lighter, and yet somehow more grounded. She looks down at her limbs now, more tattooed than ever…but they are still, and do not move. Her gaze travels to the oar in her palms; the inscriptions remain in the wood, though they do not glow.

Moana is mortal once again.

“You don’t mind the tattoos, do you?” Tangaroa asks lightly. Moana shakes her head, too stunned to speak. “Well then, consider them a parting gift.”

Moana bows her head, overcome with gratitude. “Thank you, Tangaroa, for your guidance and wisdom.”

The whale god lets out a harmonious noise. “Thank you, Moana, for your courage and determination. May the stars always light your path.”

With that, Tangaroa sinks back into the dark ocean, leaving a trail of bubbles in his wake. Moana’s canoe shakes with the sound of whale song not moments after, soaring and melodious as it breaks the silence of the night air. Moana waits a few heartbeats to watch the great whale god breach on the horizon, glimmering in the moonlight.

Moana’s attention returns to the oar in her grip, and she turns the wood in her hands to inspect the etchings. She finds herself grateful that they did not vanish along with her powers—Moana has never claimed to be anything but wholly sentimental, and the inscriptions are a memento of her adventures. Maui’s signature also remains, and she runs her fingers over the curves of the hook and the heart, grinning to herself.

Now, Moana takes a moment to inspect her new tattoos. Her left arm is now decorated in images of Moana sailing, of her wearing her ceremonial headdress, of her laboring alongside her people; on her right shows Moana banishing the clouds to defeat Tāwhirimātea and summoning the new island of Rangi and Papa. And on her chest, right above her heart, it depicts Moana grabbing Maui by the ear and pointing with her oar. Moana cannot help the deep laugh that bubbles up, brushing her hand over the new ink. Little Moana, tugging the great demigod by his ear…it’s _perfect._

She gazes down at the Mini Maui and Moana, stamped forever over her heart. Moana traces a finger over the small figures, feeling the momentary glee crumble away as she thinks of returning to her island. Her parents will be overjoyed, but Maui…

Moana bites her lip. As with her suspicions about Tangaroa, Moana is suddenly seized by the conviction that he too knew what her choice would be. Moana huffs, pushing hair out of her face, and wonders why her desires are obvious to everyone but her.

Moana leans to dip a hand into the water, skimming her fingers over the surface. “You’re not mad that I became a mortal again, are you? We’re still friends?” In response, the ocean curls around her wrist, before a thin jet of water hits Moana right in the nose. Moana laughs, brushing the droplets from her face. “Okay, okay, I shouldn’t have doubted. Sorry,” she chuckles, patting the water one last time.

Moana stands and stretches, her shoulders popping. Her body doesn’t feel much different, other than being vaguely less…magical? It’s difficult to describe, she finds.

Using her hand to measure the position of the moon, Moana figures she’s got a couple hours until dawn, and there’s a gentle breeze growing. She could use some solo sailing time, she realizes—to become reacquainted with her mortal self and to untangle some of her thoughts. With that in mind, Moana turns the boat into a beam reach point of sail and sets off.

Moana adjusts the course slightly using her oar, and ponders her return to mortality, which in itself is a very strange phrase to consider. Moana never expected to become a demigod, never asked for it…and she wonders, if given the chance, would she? To be immortal sounds…grand, to be sure. To exist infinitely as the sky and earth do, to never wilt with age, to never become weak with illness. Certainly, there is an appeal…but at what cost?

How quickly do the years begin to blur together? The centuries? And Moana knows now that to be immortal does not mean one is immune to being killed, and she swallows the chill that creeps up her spine at the idea of spending eternity _alone_. No lover to sleep next to, no tribe to walk alongside. Even if she were to visit her people, she would have to watch them die as time marched on steadily and mercilessly.

No, Moana thinks, the burden of immortality seems far too great for her to bear. Her heart clenches at the thought of Maui and the mantle he must carry, and she vows to ensure that he has a place amongst her people, now and until the end of time.

The hours stretch on as Moana guides her canoe over the waves, and she savors every last moment. She closes her eyes to enjoy the wind on her face, and the gentle rocking of the boat. She carefully counts the stars, and tracks the moon in her descent from the heavens. She finds herself imagining the look on her parents’ faces and on Maui’s in turn, and her eagerness to sail home rises and falls like the tide. Though she hesitates to turn around, there is no regret in Moana’s heart—she has made the right choice.

Finally, when the moon surrenders her reign on the night sky, Moana turns her sails to Motuho’ou.

By the time the ocean waves give way to the gentle ripples of the reef, the sun is peeking over the line where the sky meets the sea, throwing glorious light upon the water. The brilliant oranges chase away the dark cobalt, the luminous yellows nipping at the heels of the lavender twilight. The surface of the ocean reflects the sunlight so brightly it’s nearly blinding. To Moana, it feels like the dawn itself is blessing her voyage home.

A figure is standing on the shore, and Moana doesn’t need to look closely to know that it’s Maui. He waves as she gets closer, and trots down into the surf to help pull her canoe ashore.

“So,” he says amicably, rolling up the main sail, “Decided that you weren’t a fan of divinity after all, huh?” The words are light, and they confirm Moana’s prediction—Maui definitely expected this.

Moana steps around the canoe to be close to Maui, leaving her oar in the sand, and plucks his large hands from the winch where he’s tying off the sheet. She takes them in her own, stroking his skin with her thumbs, even though they dwarf her own hands to an almost comical extent.

“Demigod or human,” she murmurs, leaning up onto her tiptoes and laying her hands on his chest, “I still love you.” Maui meets her halfway, drawing Moana into a sweet kiss, his arms wrapping around her. They separate briefly, only to meet again, their lips brushing over and over until Moana’s toes curl in the sand.

When Moana finally pulls away, settling onto her heels, she’s feels dizzy enough to fall over. Maui looks just as affected; his ears and cheeks are dark red under his tan skin and there’s a dopey grin curling his lips. Moana gets a little lost in his gentle, brown eyes before she snaps out of her stupor, and she steps away from Maui a little so she can think more clearly.

She looks at him now, watching as the dawn lights his face, haloing him in gold. The slopes of his cheeks and the cut of his jaw are enhanced by the glow, making Maui appear more striking than ever. He’s beautiful, she thinks. _Divine._

“Maui,” she begins hesitantly. “What does this mean, for us? You’re immortal, and I’m…” Moana doesn’t finish that thought. She doesn’t have to.

Maui’s mouth curves into a rueful grin, and sorrow and joy mingle in his eyes. “It means that I’m going to stick around, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Moana draws Maui into another hug, pressing her cheek against his broad chest. She can feel his chin resting on her hair as his arms close around her waist, and she can hear the beat of his heart thumping against her ear. She lets out the shuddery sigh. Just like her island, he feels like home.

“C’mon,” Maui says, pulling away just enough to take Moana’s hand. “I can think of two people who would _really_ like to see you. By the way, sweet new tats.”

Moana laughs at the compliment, and allows herself to be led back to her parents’ _fale_ , feeling a stirring of excitement in her chest. Finally, she can embrace them without any hesitation, and she can speak truthfully to her people about her absence. It feels like a weight has been lifted off Moana’s chest, and quickly she finds herself pulling ahead of Maui, eventually breaking into a run as she heads for the _fale._

Moana bursts through the drawn _pola_ , stumbling into the main room with her arms thrown out and her chest heaving. Her parents are in the middle of preparing for the day; her father freezes, his headdress hovering over his hair, and her mother pauses where she’s rolling up the sleeping mats. Moana just stands there, unsure her next move.

“Moana?” Sina whispers, standing.

“I’m home,” Moana blurts, lost for better words. “I’m…I’m _home.”_

Her mother and father blink silently for a heartbeat, before abandoning their current activity and rushing over to Moana, embracing her tightly. “Are you…?” Tui asks hesitantly, running a hand over his daughter’s hair, cupping her cheek. His gaze is hopeful but uncertain.

“I’m home,” Moana says again, tears gathering in her eyes. “To _stay.”_

Chief Tui calls a council meeting thereafter, and Moana is finally able to tell her story the way it should be told. The councilmen and women look on with awe and wonder as she recounts the tale, gasps of shock and disbelief echoing throughout the _fale tele_ . Moana does not falter as she speaks this time; her parents on her right, looking on with pride, and Maui on her left, holding her hand tightly in his own. Moana shows the council the oar and its divine inscriptions, and allows them to examine her tattoos. Hina, a village elder and councilwoman, leans in to exchange a _hongi_ with Moana before she returns to her seat.

“We are honored that you would return to us,” Hina murmurs. Moana smiles at the older woman, grateful for her easy acceptance of the explanation. There are still a few doubtful expressions in the crowd, and Moana knows she will have to work to fully regain the trust of her people.

Now, Hina leans in close to whisper in Moana’s ear, and gestures to Maui. “And good job snagging the big, brave brick of meat over there!”

Moana gapes as Hina pulls away cackling conspiratorially. The older woman winks at Moana before returning to her seat on the _fala_ mats, looking like the very picture of elderly innocence. Beside her, Maui gazes at her curiously, and Moana offers him an awkward smile and squeezes his hand. She hopes her palms aren’t too sweaty.

Suddenly, Chief Tui waves his arm, quieting the murmuring of the council. “I think it is time for Moana to receive her title as _ali’i matai,”_ he declares, startling Moana.

Before the whole _save the world_ quest shenanigans, Moana heard whispers about being bestowed the title of high chief, and she discussed the matter with her parents…but she figured her absence would have delayed the ceremony. Moana feels her chest warm, knowing her parents’ faith in her is yet unshaken.

“All in favor?” Chief Tui asks, looking around the room. Most hands rise immediately, signifying their agreement, though some are slower to join. Eventually, however the vote is unanimous—all of the council agrees. Moana will become high chief of Motuho’ou.

Moana blinks silently, humbled, shocked, and thrilled all at once. Maui leans over to whisper in her ear, sounding smug, “As far as demotions go, demigod to high chief ain’t bad.”

The quip breaks Moana out of her stupor, and she quickly bows her head, remembering her manners. “I am honored to bear this title and responsibility,” she says, voice solemn. Moana has to fight to keep it from shaking.

Chief Tui claps his hands, to signal both the conclusion of the matter the council meeting. “And so it shall be,” he proclaims, a proud smile on his face. “We will take the next three days to prepare for the _saofa’i_ ceremony. On the fourth day, Moana will receive her title as _ali’i matai.”_

The occupants of the room erupt into cheers, and Moana is swept into another round of hugs and _hongi_ exchanges, and by the time the council has filtered out of the _fale tele,_ she’s just about exhausted. Although, for sailing the whole night, Moana isn’t as tired as she’d expect, for a human. Perhaps divinity has some lasting effects…

That train of thought is interrupted by Sina, who pulls her daughter into a hug. “I know you will do wondrous things, my little minnow.”

Moana returns the embrace, still a little stunned at the turn of events. When they separate, Tui and Maui are waiting at the edge of the _fale tele_. Her father beckons. “Come. It is time to tell the village.”

Moana’s tribe reacts with just as much jubilation as they had when Moana first returned—she is hoisted into the air and paraded around the village as her people chant “ _High chief Moana! High chief Moana!”_

Eventually, however, the island must return to its daily work—there are fish to be caught and baskets to be woven. And now, a _saofa’i_ ceremony to prepare for. Moana is about to join a few women in collecting _‘ava_ root to be dried for the ceremonial drink when Maui pulls her aside. His face is void of emotion, save for a rueful downward curve of his lips. Moana’s stomach drops.

He leads her to a grove of young banana trees by the river, tugging her into their protective shade. Moana finds herself stepping close to him almost subconsciously, desperate to know the source of his discomfort. “Maui?” she asks tentatively, resting her hands on his broad chest. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Maui grins at her, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine, curly. It’s just the whole high chief thing,” he explains, his gaze cutting away from hers. “It kind of…drove home the fact that you’re human again. That you’re staying here. But that’s okay!” he adds, sounding nervous. “I am in full support, one hundred and ten percent. Go High Chief Moana! Whoo!” The words are sincere but Moana can tell there is more to it than that.

Moana’s heart twists with pain. “Oh, Maui,” she whispers, standing on her toes to press her forehead against his. She wants to apologize, but also cannot—her place is here, with her people, leading and wayfinding. How can she apologize for who she is? And more than that, she is certain Maui would not want it.

All Moana can think right now is that she needs Maui to understand that she wants him to be happy. Whether that means staying as her friend, or leaving the island, or becoming hers forever—Maui must do what is right for his own heart. Moana knows there is a place for him on this island; her tribe adores Maui nearly as much as she. And while Moana cannot ask him to stay, but she can offer him the choice.

“I’m here for you,” she says finally, her words an echo of his earlier this morning. “I’m here _with_ you. For as long as you want.”

Maui smiles at her, and pulls away just enough so he can press a chaste kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,” he murmurs. Suddenly, he looks away again. “I…I need some space. To _think_ ,” Maui clarifies at Moana’s stricken look. “About everything. Demigodly stuff, too. The Great Maui has many subjects to…ponder,” he says with about half his usual bravado. “Not just, you know. _Feelings_.” The last word comes out of his mouth with the same sentiment one might feel towards a squashed bug.

Moana grins wryly at him, familiar with Maui’s more prickly side. He’s kind of like an _unauna_ crab that way—a gentle touch is fine, but too much pressure and he retracts, folding himself up protectively. That’s alright, Moana thinks—she’s got other ways of coaxing him out of his shell.

“Hey,” she says, grabbing his chin with her thumb and forefinger and bringing his gaze back to meet hers. “I understand. Lonesome, soul-searching sailing trips in the moonlight aren’t just for heroes, you know. Sidekicks get to have them, too.”

Maui’s eyes crinkle at that, his lips curling into a smirk, and she can feel his body ease in her hands. “Just so you know,” he begins, taking her hand to head back towards the shore. “I have secretly thought of you as _my_ sidekick this whole time. Te Fiti and all.”

Moana smacks his stomach with her free hand. “My _sweet new tats_ beg to differ, buddy,” she retorts, flexing her bicep to show off the image of Tāwhirimātea’s defeat. Maui responds to that by flexing _his_ biceps, which causes Moana to trip over her own feet, almost yanking them both to the ground. Moana pouts and ignores Maui’s smug laughter, stomping her way onto the beach. He trots to catch up, and Moana startles when Maui reaches over to brush her hair away from her neck.

“What else ya got?” he inquires, peering curiously. He had seen the additions on her arms, but Moana realizes she may have received new ink on her back without knowing it.

“Not sure,” she answers honestly. “What do you see?”

Maui hums as he skims his fingers over her skin, sending a shiver down Moana’s spine. “Nothing new on your back—oh wait, here we go,” he corrects himself, lifting Moana’s hair away from her shoulders. His hands brush the nape of her neck, right at the base of her skull. “You got a new one right here,” he tells her, tapping it. “Looks like a _manutara_. You know, one of those black and white birds that hang around the boats?”

Moana blinks. “A wideawake tern?” she wonders aloud, considering. It makes sense, she supposes; whenever and wherever she and her people went voyaging, the _manutara_ would be found in astonishing numbers, happy to ride the winds of the sea, accompanying the boats for weeks. The _manutara_ were helpful in finding atolls and islets for restocking the canoes too—and it was by following their flight patterns that Moana and her tribe discovered Motuho’ou.

Maui strokes his thumb over the marking one last time before allowing the curtain of Moana’s hair to fall back into place, hiding it. “It suits you,” he decides, before plodding off in the sand towards Moana’s canoe.

Moana cranes her neck around, even though it’s hopeless, wishing she could see the tattoo. Maybe she’ll have Maui sketch it for her one day, so she knows what it looks like.

 _One day_. The words catch like a fishing hook in the coral, giving Moana pause as she follows Maui to the canoe. Will there be a _one day?_

Moana watches Maui now, sees his capable hands unfurling the sails and securing the sheet. The look of concentration in his brown eyes, the way his tongue sticks out of his lips as he focuses. He will come back. _He will come back._

Moana finally reaches the canoe, and helps Maui prepare it for sail. There’s not really much to be done, however, and within minutes Maui is ready to shove off. It’s barely midday, blue skies and bright sun abound, and there’s a decent wind on the sea. A perfect day for sailing, if Moana has ever seen one. She envies not Maui, but the ocean and the breeze who will travel alongside him.

“My ceremony is in three days,” Moana reminds him, stepping back to give Maui space to launch. “You better not miss it.” Even if he leaves again right after that…she wants him at the ceremony.

Maui abandons his task of loosening the halyard, hopping off the canoe to walk over to Moana. He sweeps her into his arms, sending sand flying as she kicks out in surprise. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he declares, pulling her in for a kiss.

Moana wraps her arms around his neck, slanting her lips over his and pressing her body close. _Come back to me_ are the words she cannot say, but perhaps she can speak them in another way.

Maui slowly lowers Moana onto the ground, though his lips never leave hers. Eventually she does pull away, though she leans in again to press her forehead against his in a _hongi_ . “Go,” she whispers. _Go before I never let you leave._

Maui’s hand comes up to caress Moana’s cheek, his thumb stroking tenderly over her skin. Finally he steps away, turning to grip the stern of the canoe and shove it off into the tide. The gentle waves sweep him out into the sea as if to say, _come, old, friend, let us talk._

Moana watches as the boat grows smaller and smaller as it heads out over the ocean, Maui’s powerful silhouette at the helm. She digs her toes into the sand, needing to feel rooted as she suppresses the burning urge to call out his name, to call him back. When at last the tiny shadow of the canoe vanishes over the line of the horizon, Moana turns to head back to her village.

Moana freezes. At the edge of the shore, standing beneath the shade of a coconut palm is her mother. Sina has her hands clasped in front of her and a thoughtful look on her face.

“Mom…”

Sina simply holds a hand out, waiting until Moana takes it to speak further. “I’m very proud of you,” she says simply and sincerely, her gaze boring into Moana’s. A gentle smile curves her lips as she takes in the lovelorn appearance of her daughter, and she tugs Moana away from the shore. “Let’s go prepare for your ceremony, alright?”

Moana allows herself to be led to the group of women digging up the _‘ava_ root. Moana has only participated in an _‘ava_ ceremony a few times—when she came of age and when Motuho’ou was first discovered ten years ago—and so the motions are still unfamiliar to her. She loses herself in the work, digging, cleaning, setting the roots out to dry. They’ll be baked in the sun for at least a day, and then allowed to rest. On the morning of her ceremony the roots will be pounded and ground into a fine dust, before being added to the ceremonial _tanoa_ bowl and mixed with fresh water from the river. Moana will be the first to drink the fresh _‘ava_ , as ritual dictates, then her father and mother. Then Maui, if he is there.

 _No_ . Moana shakes her head, curling her fingers in the dirt as she searches for the root base of an _‘ava_ plant. Not if. _When_ Maui is there, she will hand him the _tauau_ cup and he too will drink, celebrating her new title as chief.

Maui does not return that night, nor does he the next dawn. Moana does not allow herself to dwell or to question it, and simply goes on with her daily life. She enjoys the gentle breeze on her face and the cool tide around her toes as she fishes in the lagoon; she looks on with pride and amusement as her students attempt to master new dance moves; she climbs to the tallest peak on the island and sees the fires flicker to life in the village below as the sun sinks on the horizon.

As Moana watches the stars begin to twinkle in the darkening sky, her heart settles. Something in the way the wind blows, in the whispers of the rustling grass and the murmuring of the waves far below, it calms her at once. Like a sail escaping irons, her lungs suddenly fill with her first easy breath in days; and she is no longer afraid.

Moana’s mother is not so confident. The thoughtfulness on Sina’s face morphed into apprehension on the dawn of the second day, finally growing into a sympathetic frown on the third. But Moana ignores the concerned look—she knows now, deep her heart, that Maui will return.

Finally, it is the evening of the third day, the night before Moana’s ceremony. The entire island is atwitter with excitement over the coming ritual, and Moana suspects few will sleep tonight—least of all herself. She makes her way up to the peak of the mountain once more, paying no heed to the doubtful expression on her mother’s face.

Moana looks out over the open sea, savoring the vibrant beauty of the sunset and the way the grass tickles her feet. Tomorrow, she will place her stone on this mountain, the first of any chief, and she can feel pride bubbling warm in her chest. Gramma Tala would be proud, she thinks. Moana kneels on the grass, running her fingers through the soft blades.

Suddenly, the wind changes, tugging at Moana’s hair as if to say _look! Turn around!_

Moana follows the bearing of the wind, twisting to look out upon the horizon. There, on the line where the sky meets the sea, tiny but sure, is the silhouette of a canoe.

Maui has returned.

Leaping to her feet, Moana takes to the mountain trail at a sprint, skipping and skidding over the dirt. She uses every shortcut she’s found on this island, pushing her way through a thicket of bamboo, cutting through the taro fields and sending the _pūkeko_ birds squawking as they flutter away. She dashes straight through the village, ignoring calls of her name, and makes her way down to the shore as quickly as she can. By the time she reaches the beach, the canoe is close enough to make out the details, and Moana waits impatiently, hopping from foot to foot as it draws nearer.

Finally, Maui disembarks when he reaches the shallows, jumping down into the surf before shoring the boat. Moana runs towards Maui as quickly as she can, tackling him into the ankle-deep water with a splash. She wraps her arms tightly around his neck, inhaling his comforting scent and feeling relief flood her at the sensation of his body against hers. “I knew you’d come back,” she mumbles into his shoulder.

Suddenly, Moana freezes. Something is… _different_ about Maui. Something about him has changed. Moana pulls back, still straddling him in the low tide, and grabs his face in her hands. Maui just smirks at her, waiting.

Moana squints at him, moving her hands to run over his chest, trying to feel out the _change_ she senses in him. She pats his pectorals, skims her hands over his shoulders, threads her fingers through his silky hair and leans close to peer into his familiar brown eyes. They hold nothing but amusement and expectation.

Suddenly, it clicks.

“Maui…you’re… _human?”_

Maui just grins at her. “Nailed it, curly.” His voice is nothing but lightness and excitement.

_What?_

Moana gapes at him, trying to process that revelation. Maui, trickster, demigod of the wind and sea, hero to all…is a mortal now? She realizes with a start that there’s a tiny version of his fishhook attached to his necklace, and that his tattoos are unmoving on his skin.

“But…Maui, why?” she asks, dumbfounded, reaching out to take the tiny fishhook in her hands. Well, she supposes it’s actually just normal-sized now. “Why would you give up your powers?”

Maui sits up, forcing Moana to lean back, though he keeps her in his lap. The gentle waves ebb and flow around them, rising and falling as they kiss the sandy shore. “I’d rather die tomorrow than live a thousand years without you by my side. I love you, Moana.”

Moana’s heart swoops and dives in her chest at hearing those words from Maui for the first time. He loves her. _Maui loves her._

However, as much as Moana wants to savor his words, something cold tugs at her heart.

“You wouldn’t lose me, Maui,” she urges him, even as her logical side shakes her head. “I…you can’t become mortal _for_ me, Maui. You’ll…you’ll grow to resent me, or…” She trails off, not wanting to finish that thought. Her stomach is flipping with joy and sinking with anxiety all at once.

Maui rests a hand on her belly, glancing at it meaningfully. “Moana, you know that’s not true,” he tells her gently. “You have duties to your people as a chief.  And besides, I didn’t do it for you—not _just_ for you, anyway.”

Maui smiles at her, nothing but affection in his eyes.

“The gods don’t make me Maui,” he murmurs. “ _I_ do. You taught me that. And this is what Maui wants. To be with you, here, on this island and out on the sea, and wherever you’ll have me.”

Moana just stares at him, speechless, before breaking into the biggest, most ecstatic grin, tears gathering in her eyes. “I _hate_ it when you talk in third person,” she chokes out on a laugh, grabbing his face to pull him in for a kiss.

He goes willingly, one hand resting on the small of her back and cupping her head with the other, tangling his fingers in her hair. But Moana can’t keep the stunned grin off her face, smiling against his lips and laughing in joy and disbelief. She doesn’t even care that their teeth clack a little, and kisses Maui again, and again, before peppering kisses all over his face. She kisses his nose, his forehead, his chin, both his cheeks—every inch that she can reach. Maui simply laughs all the while, jovial and lighthearted.

Suddenly, Moana pulls back, gaze boring into his. She takes his face in hands again, though not to kiss him this time. Moana just gazes searchingly at him, looking for any scrap of regret or apprehension. She finds none.

“Marry me,” she blurts out.

Maui blinks at her, jaw slack. “What?” He looks stunned, before he shakes himself. “I mean, _yes!”_

Moana knocks him back into the water again with the force of her hug, giggling in elation. They’re going to be married. _Married!_ Together they’ll head her clan and sail beyond the horizon, taking on each new challenge side by side. Maui will be hers, and she’ll be his.

Moana is about to kiss Maui again when he hums thoughtfully, sitting up. “Man,” he sighs, shaking his head. Moana’s heart skips a beat, worried. “I’m marrying a chief and that’s the proposal I get? Romance must truly be dead!”

Moana gapes at Maui, before smacking his chest. “Maui!” He scared her!

Maui just chuckles, shrugging. “What? Can you blame a guy for wanting to be wooed?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Shaking her head in exasperation, Moana gets to her feet, tugging on Maui’s wrist for him to do the same. Maui follows, looking confused and a little hesitant as she tows him a little ways up the beach, out of reach of the growing tide. Just when he opens his mouth to question her, Moana abruptly shoves Maui back down onto the sand, sinking down to straddle his waist.

They’ve got a least a half-hour before someone comes looking, she thinks. Moana runs a finger down his cheek, and she can see his throat bob as he swallows.

“You wanna be wooed, huh?” Moana asks, before leaning down to do just that.

**TBC**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? I love a good twist. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I know some of you will be unhappy with Moana's choice, but deep in my heart this is the one I believe she would make. 
> 
> Next time, a wedding! And LOTS more than that! It's gonna be a doozy of a chapter, so hold onto your butts.
> 
> Amuia le masina, e alu ma toe sau: "Fortunate is the moon, to go and then return." A Samoan proverb about the shortness of human life.  
> Fale tele: a large community fale, for meetings.  
> Unauna crab: hermit crab.  
> Ali'i matai: Samoan term for high chief.  
> Saofa'i: the Samoan ceremony of giving a new chief their title  
> 'Ava: (also known as kava) a traditional drink made from the dried 'ava root, given during important events and ceremonies; there is a complex ritual involved in preparing, serving, and drinking it. It has sedative qualities.  
> Tanoa: ceremonial bowl for preparing the 'ava.  
> Tauau: ceremonial cup for drinking the 'ava, made from polished coconut husk.


End file.
